


More Man than You

by ladygray99, Mikey (mikes_grrl), tawg



Series: More Man than You [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Backstory, F/M, First Time, M/M, Multiple First Times, Sexual Identity, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-29
Updated: 2013-01-10
Packaged: 2017-11-17 06:49:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 20
Words: 36,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/548776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladygray99/pseuds/ladygray99, https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikes_grrl/pseuds/Mikey, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tawg/pseuds/tawg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Like everyone else his age, Steve Rogers graduates high school when he is fifteen years old.</p><p>It's 1933.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [[翻译] More Man than You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1763419) by [cloooudy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloooudy/pseuds/cloooudy), [ladygray99](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladygray99/pseuds/ladygray99), [Mikey (mikes_grrl)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikes_grrl/pseuds/Mikey), [tawg](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tawg/pseuds/tawg)



> This is the first part of this story arc, the years between 1933 and 1944. The next story in the series will move into the Avengers-era. This story, though, is mostly about Steve managing his "alternative sexuality" in an era that didn't acknowledge such a thing existed. If you aren't a history/anthropology geek you will probably find it very boring. Sorry. 
> 
> For more on the cultural mores of Steve's era, check out my [Study Guide](http://archiveofourown.org/works/548795). 
> 
> ON WARNINGS: This fic is tagged for violence and rape, but that is specifically for one chapter which I warn for in the notes and which does NOT feature Steve or Bucky (the victim is an OC). Still, it's a triggery chapter, so please read with caution. 
> 
> ON CANON: This is roughly based on the MCU version of Steve Rogers as seen in the movies Captain America and the Avengers. However, the story tends skip over important movie moments because honestly, I don't see the point of rehashing them when I wouldn't be changing anything. To me, one important (and challenging) aspect of this version of Steve Rogers is that *externally* he is 100% canon compliant. These are all the scenes that never got filmed. ;)
> 
> On my co-authors: Ladygray99 and Tawg are not, technically, co-authors in that they did not write a word of this. However they were critical advisers regarding plot and character development, and until AO3 includes a field for listing beta readers/editors/guilty parties, I am listing them as co-authors.
> 
> AND A SPECIAL THANK YOU to [Ryan Loveless](http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4500872.Ryan_Loveless), M/M romance author and friend, who guided me towards important research materials. Ryan is a great author so check out her work. I particularly recommend the historical romance _The Forgotten Man_ , set in the same era as this story.

Steve turned 15 and graduated high school in 1933, ten years after his mother died, three years after the Great Depression started and the same year Prohibition was repealed. In retrospect, 1933 would be called the darkest year of the Depression, when 1 in 4 people were out of work and thousands were homeless. The only thing that had been holding the Depression at bay in Brooklyn was the black market booze trade, which was run by gangsters and the corrupt cops but was a very prosperous business, given that the whole world’s economy was in pieces.

Bucky had been a runner for one of the speakeasies, and on Steve’s birthday in July the repeal of Prohibition was still five months away so Bucky had money to spend.

“Taking you someplace special, Steve.” Bucky grinned, hands in his pockets as they walked towards the waterfront.

Steve knew what Bucky had in mind. His best friend was smart and clever but he didn’t have a poker face to save his life. He’d been grinning like a fiend since his own birthday three months earlier, when Bucky’s uncle Martin had taken Bucky to a brothel. Steve figured it was his turn, because Bucky hated it when Steve wasn’t on the same page with him. They had been that way since Bucky had hit a ball through Steve’s open window onto his sickbed when they were six: Bucky forging ahead, clearing the path and helping Steve to catch up. About the only things Steve did better than Bucky were math and art. Definitely not girls.

“I don’t know, Buck.”

“You’re as healthy as you ever get, you’re fifteen, you graduated high school. I’m taking care of you, Steve.” Bucky wrapped his arm around Steve as they walked, brothers-in-arms. Steve ignored the knot in his stomach from feeling Bucky’s protective strength holding him close. He wasn’t a girl, he wasn’t a fairy, and he didn’t want to feel that way.

The brothel was called a hotel and it was small. Bucky charmed his way in, dragging Steve behind him. Looking at the girls all dressed like gangsters’ molls, Steve was mortally afraid that he would never get hard again. Every dame in the place was bigger than he was, and while he was used to being a small guy, it wasn’t something he wanted pointed out to him right then.

Mostly, he didn’t want to let Bucky down.

The girls played up to Bucky, of course, who was gangly and uncoordinated but still more man than Steve ever hoped to be, and twice as handsome. Steve felt uncomfortable choosing a girl for himself, because he was never going to not be uncomfortable around dames, so he got the soft, curvy brunette Bucky pointed at (because he knew how much Steve “appreciated” Clara Bow).

Steve knew all about sex, because growing up in Brooklyn put him in tight quarters with a lot of other people, especially since his mother died and he lived with four of his cousins in two rooms at a boarding house. Sex was simply a part of life, although admittedly one people tried to keep out of sight. Still, it was not an unknown, so the strangest part of the whole thing was getting undressed for it. 

The girl was named Eunice, and she was pretty, but more importantly she did not laugh at him. He made a stuttering explanation about his health but she shook her head and then held his face in her soft, delicate hands.

“You’re very pretty,” she said, and Steve tensed up.

“I’m not a fairy.”

“No, you’re not, are you?” She smiled knowingly at his manhood, which was making itself known due to the close proximity of Eunice’s bare breasts. Still smiling, she took him to bed. It was amazing, just as incredible as Bucky had promised. Eunice was soft but strong under him, letting him touch her with his fingers and laughing when he asked to look at her, although she wasn’t at all convinced that it was because he was an artist and simply wanted to know. She finally grabbed his dick and stroked it until Steve crumbled into her slick, wet heat and learned how different it was to be held instead of handling himself. Steve swore out loud as he climaxed, thinking about Bucky and trying not to think too much about that afterward.

Eunice propped herself up on one elbow as Steve rolled out of bed. “But you are pretty.”

“I told you. I’m normal, okay?” He frowned at her as he put on his pants.

She leaned forward, whispering. “You said his name.”

Steve stalled, panicking, because he thought he had managed not to do that. He got called a fairy all the time because of how small he was, but he was no pansy or flaming queer, he was a guy, and he always fought back when someone poked at him. It did not really change what he wanted, though. One word from Eunice and Steve’s entire world would be destroyed, so Steve held his breath, waiting for her next move, figuring he could arrow out her window if it came time for a quick getaway.

“They’re not all fairies, you know. Some some guys are just like you.” She narrowed her eyes and bit her lip, which started stirring Steve’s passions again so he went back to getting dressed. When he put on his shirt she handed him a piece of paper with an address written on it.

“This is in the Village—” He held out the paper uncomprehendingly. He rarely went to the city; he was a Brooklyn boy and Manhattan was another world.

“You might like it. You might be surprised.”

Steve knew by the way she looked at him that it was a den of ill repute, some kind of club where fags danced in dresses. Everyone knew Greenwich Village was where all the queers and bohemians lived, and it was definitely one place Steve had never intended to visit.

“I like girls.” He held the paper out.

She laughed like he was child. “I know you do. But some normal guys like to step out to the gay way sometimes,” she said, shrugging, as if it were the most natural, easiest thing in the world to talk about. Steve gave her a hard look but she shrugged again and reached for her dress, dismissing him.

Steve walked out into the waiting arms of Bucky, who slapped him on the back and called him a “real man” and did not notice the small piece of paper Steve pocketed as they left.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note on canon compliance: I've made Steve and Bucky orphans, but they did not grow up in an orphanage as they were both older when their parents died (Steve's died first). All that's really important to know is that they do have family around, just not parents.

Prohibition was repealed in December of 1933. What money had been floating around Brooklyn dried up and disappeared, and while there were wild parties celebrating the return of legal liquor all over the country, it meant that Bucky was well and truly unemployed, along with just about everyone else in their generation who wasn’t Jackie Cooper. 

Steve scrambled for odd jobs. When his health was well enough he painted signs, or re-painted them, but everyone was hard hit by the financial catastrophe of Black Tuesday that never seemed to end. Businesses closed, gangsters got more ruthless once their easy money from illegal liquor was gone, and everyone knew someone who had lost everything. Steve managed to grab a few accounting jobs here and there which at least covered his part of the rent, if not much else. He hated doing books, but he had a head for numbers and the patience to figure out problems in the columns. 

Two of the cousins Steve lived with gave up after the first of the year and moved back to Pennsylvania where they had come from; the other two went in with Steve on a smaller, one-bedroom flat to save on rent. Being the smallest and youngest, Steve bunked in the “living” room which was mostly a glorified hallway with a hot plate. There was a separate bathroom which was shared by everyone on the floor, and they got group supper as board if they managed to show up in the dinning room at 6pm on the dot to eat it. Steve’s cousins worked night shift at a factory, having managed to hold onto the jobs they had before Black Tuesday by agreeing to the take the hours, so Steve got the place to himself most of the time because they were either at work or asleep in the bedroom.

Bucky still lived with his aunt, but ended up sleeping in the living room when her daughter, her unemployed husband and two kids moved in after they could not make their own rent. Bucky and his cousin-in-law worked the soup lines during the day and at night Bucky got into boxing matches for a cut of the door. He usually won, but not always, and there were many nights he stumbled into Steve’s flat with his face bleeding and drunk on pain. Steve took care of him and they ended up falling asleep together, spooned like brothers in the small bed crammed under the window, Bucky’s heavy arm weighing Steve down with the feeling of love and security that no blanket could ever provide. 

Steve never threw away the piece of paper that Eunice had given him, but neither did he intend to do anything about it. He was scrambling for work but he had a roof over his head and Bucky was his best friend. Steve was, in a strange way, comfortable with their life, despite the drawbacks. Sometimes he wished for something different—-a girlfriend, maybe, or real job doing important things. When he was a kid, Steve had wanted to be a cop; and while that dream had been crushed by his ongoing poor health, part of him still wanted to right wrongs and help people who were in trouble. He didn’t have the education or the money to go to college to become a doctor or a lawyer, so instead Steve just tried to live honestly, help out business owners who were struggling, and take care of Bucky. 

In hindsight, he realized he should have seen the blow coming before it ever hit. 

“So, hey, there’s this girl I want you to meet.”

“Aw, Buck, not again,” Steve groaned, flopping back on his bed while Bucky fidgeted in the middle of the small room. “Stop trying to set me up.”

“No, it’s not like that. It’s just her. I mean, I just want you to meet her. Because I like her, and you’re like a brother to me, and you should meet her.”

Steve sat up, blinking. “You like her?”

Bucky grinned. “Yeah. I really do.”

Steve’s stomach bottomed out as he stared at Bucky. He was used to Bucky going out on dates with girls, but they never lasted more than a night or two. Bucky was handsome and charming and witty and the dames all fell for that, over and over. It was just part of who Bucky was.

“You got yourself a girl?” Steve asked, still feeling thunderstruck and stopping just short of adding, “Why?” Although Bucky seemed to pick up on it.

“I wasn’t looking for it, Steve. Honest! She’s a waitress at one of the clubs I box at sometimes. She’s…Irish.”

Steve pinched his nose. “I don’t care about that. She could be Italian for all I care. Or Jewish. For pity’s sake, you know me better than that.”

Bucky sighed heavily. “Yeah, I didn’t think you’d mind. Look, will you meet her?”

Steve nodded. “Sure, Buck. She’s your girl, ‘course I want to meet her.” He plastered a smile on his face. 

Bucky looked happy. Genuinely, openly happy. He smiled back and slapped Steve on shoulder, telling him where to meet up with them later that night, then bounced out riding high. Steve realized that Bucky was in love. 

His whole world came crashing down.

He met them that night for a beer at the club where the girl—-Anne—-worked, but pretend to be sick just to get away from the way Bucky fawned all over her. She was soft and pretty, their age or younger, and her beautiful green eyes saw no one but Bucky. Steve clinched his jaw, smiled, and begged off. 

Bucky barely seemed to notice him leaving.

Steve wandered out into the frigid April weather, his fingers playing at the piece of paper in his coat pocket. The night was still young and it was clear that Bucky was occupied for the evening, so Steve headed for one of the train stations that would take him to the Village. 

Bohemian and quaint, Greenwich Village was different from anything Steve knew. Used to the working class world of Brooklyn, Steve found the place oddly exotic. Gone were the overalls and canvas pants of the factory and dock workers. Gone were the shrill hookers and fairies who lined some streets like birds on a wire, pushing at each other and work-day drunks for business. Gone were the open doors of the Italian neighborhoods, smelling like pasta and sugar, and overrun with kids. Gone were the tired and bitter eyes of men working too hard, of women disappointed too often, of children not getting enough to eat. 

The place wasn’t rich, but people on the street dressed in nice suits and the women wore the latest fashions. If there were hookers around, they were too smart to be obvious about it. Steve wandered towards his destination, pulling his threadbare coat closer around himself and trying not to look as out of place as he felt. 

There were fairies, though. That, at least, seemed to be a constant: sashaying down the street in their frocks, catcalling the men they passed and sassing the women. They were fewer and better dressed in the Village, but they were otherwise the same as the fairies in Brooklyn. Steve ignored them, because it wasn’t as if fairies were a secret. They lined the rough streets by the docks just like the whores and often didn’t look very different. Guys used them if they wanted a change and Steve even knew a couple of neighborhood guys who seemed to like fairies more than girls. 

But the clubs were a different matter entirely. Steve had heard rumors—-mostly from Bucky—-about the fags’ clubs in the city, where every debauchery imaginable was for sale and all the “dancing girls” had dicks. It sounded dangerous in ways that Steve could not really describe. 

He got to the nightclub, called Little Buck’s, and stood at the door. There was no charge to get in but the huge bruiser in Steve’s way was obviously vetting the clientele. He gave Steve a long, thorough once over, and Steve held himself absolutely still like Bucky had taught him to whenever a bigger guy was sizing him up. Being antsy and nervous just made you look like a pussy, Bucky had explained, and that was the last thing Steve wanted to convey right then. 

The bruiser flipped a hand at Steve and grinned. “So what’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Steve.”

The guy looked surprised. “Not Samantha? Or maybe Stella?”

“Steve.” He repeated it slowly and sternly. 

“What are you, honey, 12 years old?” The bruiser had a boyish, soft face despite being nearly six feet tall. It was hard to take him seriously, but Steve wasn’t going to take any chances. 

“Sixteen.” It was a small lie but he needed every ounce of confidence he could get.

“Ohhhh, big boy then. All right, pretty.” The bruiser stepped aside. Steve walked through and nearly fell flat on his face when the doorman slapped him on the ass. “Have fun, Stevie. Don’t let them eat you alive.” 

Steve kept walking without looking back, because he did not have much of a choice. What was he going to do, slap the guy’s face like some blushing girl? 

He aimed straight for the bar. He and Bucky went out enough that Steve at least felt comfortable ordering a beer from the bartender, until he got there. The bartender was a tall, severe looking woman who was definitely a man. Steve stared up at her. Him. It.

“Gonna be all night?” The person asked. 

“I’m sorry, I have no idea what to call you,” Steve said automatically before he could stop himself. The bartender looked at him for a moment and then burst out laughing, a deep throated, manly sound completely offset by the lipstick and bright blond wig. 

“You can call me Margaret.”

“Okay. Uh. Margaret. I’d like a beer please. Ma'am.” 

Margaret’s expression turned serious for a moment as she gave Steve a very direct gaze. “That’s polite, dear.” 

“You’re welcome?” Steve hazarded.

She smiled brightly. “Oh yes, you’re a keeper. One beer coming up, sir.” She tilted the word and gave him a knowing look. Steve was once again in the position of trying not to squirm under the gaze of a much bigger man. Woman. Fairy. 

He grabbed the beer that appeared and downed half of it in one go.

“Now look at you, chugging that like a man! What’s a fine looking boy like you doing here?” 

Steve spun around to find himself face-to-chest with a heavy set older man. He looked up and grimaced, because the guy appeared to be drunk and was leering very unsubtly at Steve. 

“He’s here drinking a beer, Charlie. Why don’t you go pester Leslie over there? That boy needs some lovin’.” Margaret leaned over the bar, her height and weight making her loom over the guy. 

“No need to push, Margie. Just trying to be friendly to the new kid.” The guy hugged his drink to his chest and wandered off.

“I can take care of myself,” Steve said, trying to sound polite despite being pissed off. 

Margaret leaned back and nodded. “Duly noted. Now you could tell me your name, Mister…?”

“Steve. Steve Rogers.”

“Pleasure,” Margaret drawled, every ounce of fairy seeping through as she put out her hand for him. She held it palm down, so Steve took the invitation and lightly kissed the back of it. Margaret laughed, then leaned in again, this time with a conspiratorial air. “Do you even know why you’re here, Steve?”

Steve shook his head. “No mam, honestly I don’t.” 

Margaret laughed, got him another beer, and that was pretty much how Steve spent the rest of the night: flattering Margaret, fending off older men, and laughing at the drag burlesque routines onstage. 

After three beers, which was as much all Steve could pay for, Margaret leaned over the counter, angling down to look Steve in the eye. “Why are you here, honey?”

Steve bit his lip, confusion and indecision holding him back despite the beer buzz.

“I think you know why you’re here, don’t you?” Margaret’s voice was soft and kind, and she just stayed there, waiting for his answer.

“Bucky’s got himself a girl,” Steve blurted, then rolled his eyes at himself as he blushed furiously. 

Margaret didn’t laugh. “That your boy? Bucky?”

“My best friend. We grew up together. He’s…he’s everything.” Steve blinked at his empty beer glass, wondering if it had been spiked. 

“I bet he is. Good looking?”

“Handsome. Like…like Joel McCrea.”

She laughed. “Oh yes?”

Steve nodded. 

“But now he’s got a girl, and it’s not you.”

“I’m not a girl,” Steve snapped, then held up his hands. “Not that there is anything wrong with being a girl. Girls are great. Really, really great. I like girls.” 

Margaret laughed, quietly but fully. “Okay, at least we’ve established that you’re a lightweight. I’m cutting you off, Stevie.” 

“Bucky and I aren’t like that, you know,” Steve said quickly. “We’re normal.”

Margaret looked at him for a long time before turning and bringing back a cup of water. “Drink up, sweetheart, or you’ll feel it in the morning.”

As he stumbled home before dawn, Steve thought that things had gone well. He wasn’t sure how, exactly, or why he had decided to go to Little Buck’s instead of a bar closer to home, but he wasn’t going to examine that idea too closely as he fell into his very empty bed, alone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little Buck's is named for and based on a real gay bar in the Village, although technically it's heyday was post-WWI and the roaring 20s.

Bucky and Ann became a serious item and Steve hardly ever saw Bucky anyway due to the fact that their schedules conflicted. Bucky worked nights at the clubs, boxing or gambling, while Steve’s irregular bookkeeping jobs were all done during the day. When there was free time to be had, Bucky always brought Ann along. She was a sweet girl with a wicked sense of humor, and Steve could not bring himself to hate her as much as he wanted to. Bucky deserved to be with a fine girl like that, rather than humoring his friendship with a sickly and boring guy like Steve. 

But all the justifications in the world did not make Steve feel any better about being abandoned, not matter how many times he told himself he was being childish.

It felt like an act of rebellion to keep going back to the Village to hang out at Little Buck’s. It was something that was Steve’s, and his alone: a place where he had never been with Bucky, and indeed was probably a place that Bucky would never go. 

His third trip he brought his sketchbook and asked Margaret if he could draw her while she worked. She was very flattered and even bought him a beer once she saw just how good he was (and he offered to give her one of the drawings). Some people looked at him suspiciously as he drew, but he felt comfortable there, surround by (mostly) men, drinking a beer and relaxing without Bucky. Or, trying to. 

“Well look at that! Pretty boy can draw!”

Steve looked up to see the same drunk guy, Charlie, who had seemed interested in him his first visit. Steve shook his head. “Barking up the wrong tree, mister.”

Charlie was not quite drunk, and his expression was a lot sharper than before. He stared at the sketch Steve was working on, a stylized, comical piece showing Margaret yelling at a guy for spilling his drink. 

“Maybe not. You’ve got talent, kid.”

Steve gave him a sardonic smile. “I know that.”

Charlie laughed loudly. “And sass.”

Steve rolled his eyes and went back to his drawing, but Charlie didn’t move. “So what do you do? You work for the newspapers?”

Steve eyed him suspiciously for a second, but Charlie did seem genuinely interested. “No. Right now, looking for a job.”

The guy brightened up. “No kidding!”

“Not that desperate,” Steve said sharply.

Charlie laughed again. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a business card. “Stop by my office. You might be the kind of guy we could use.”

The fact that Charlie had called hims a “guy” counted for a lot, so Steve took the card. It said, “Charlie Harper, Publisher, Treat ‘Em Right Publishing House, New York” with a business address underneath. Steve had never heard of them, but a job prospect was better than soup lines, any day. He pocketed the card as Charlie wandered off again. Margaret was there with her usual fierce expression.

“You going to warn me off?” Steve asked, picking up his sketch book again.

She bit her lip. “No, don’t think I am.” She sighed. “But, I know what Charlie publishes, and I don’t think it’s quite your style.”

Steve blinked. “Are you saying he publishes trashy stuff?”

She nodded slowly. “Something like that. Just…don’t be shocked.”

Steve laughed, and waved a hand around at the club. There was a large clutch of pansies gossiping at one table, various fairies wandering around made up to look like dolls in eyeliner and dresses, and a drag show on stage. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

Margaret gave him one of her masculine belly laughs in agreement. 

After a few more visits, Steve finally started feeling comfortable at the club. He always sat at the bar under Margaret’s tender care, watching the second-rate drag shows onstage and making sketches. No one looked twice at him after a while, and most of the regulars knew to steer clear of him. Steve was not particularly anti-social but he knew his no-nonsense attitude was read as brusque by the partiers who filled the place. Sometimes he thought of how great it would be to have Bucky there, to talk and laugh with about the shows or outfits. But then, he also knew he did not need temptation that close. 

It was hard to think about himself that way, but Steve had faced the fact that temptation was a large part of the reason he kept coming back. At first, he missed what was really catching his eye. His sketchbooks, however, did not lie: they were filled with pages and pages of men in suits, alone or in groups, reeking masculinity and charm. It had been Margaret, of course, you pointed it out to him one night when Steve had one too many and was tipsy enough to share his work without feeling self-conscious about it. She had flipped through the pages, then smiled wickedly at him.

“Your like your men on the strong side, don’t you, love?”

Steve had not been able to answer her coherently, which he conveniently blamed on the beer. 

But, it was the unavoidable conclusion, which left Steve wondering about himself. He liked girls, he knew that, and sometimes he even thought about hiring a hooker again just for that reason. It had been nearly a year since his birthday, after all. But girls were complicated and mysterious while men were straightforward and easy to understand. Like Bucky. 

He was not too sure what he was supposed to do with those feelings. He did not feel like an invert, like a man whose needs were twisted up so wrong. And yet, the very idea of one of those strong, manly men on top of him always made Steve flush with need. He tried not to think about lying under Bucky the way Eunice had lain under him. He tried, and he failed, and it was a shame that had a name but Steve could not bear to claim it. Despite it all, he felt normal. He was just a kid from Brooklyn, not too special and moderately talented and completely, utterly _normal_. 

So he sat alone at the bar, sketching, because it kept his eyes from wandering too much.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is Steve/OMC, if that matters to you. As I said in the series header, this is not a story for hardcore shippers, FYI! :)

For a while, Steve was fairly happy people-watching at Margaret’s bar in Little Buck’s, sketching the burlesque and drag shows and not thinking about why he was avoiding Bucky. Bucky and Ann had broken up and gotten back together and were all over each other all the time, and Steve tried to keep being happy for Bucky even as he begged off the few times Bucky managed to spare an evening to include Steve. It wasn’t easy being lonely after having been in Bucky’s back pocket since they were kids, but Steve tried to get past it by hiding out in the Village and drawing what he saw there.

That state of affairs lasted until August, a month after his sixteenth birthday. 

It was late at night and Steve was finishing his third beer (he knew he was a lightweight, but at least it worked in his favor financially) when he felt someone at his elbow. A quick glance nearly had him falling off his stool, because for a hot second he thought it was Bucky.

The guy was too beefy, though, and had blue eyes instead of brown. He was a looker and set Steve’s teeth on edge. 

“Buy you a beer?” The man offered, his expression almost shy.

“Not that kind of guy, buddy.” Steve turned back to his sketchbook. 

“No, you aren’t.” He said it with certainty, and something about that got Steve’s nerves tingling. He tamped the feeling down. The guy held out his hand. “Mike Wells.”

Steve took the hand and shook it firmly. “Steve Rogers.”

Mike settled in to the bar. “Been watching you. You don’t really go for the ‘girls’, do you?”

Steve eyed the fairies Mike was motioning at. “Not really my type.”

“Not really mine, either,” Mike said, shifting slightly to lean into Steve. Steve’s heart rate pitched up.  
“Mike, baby, haven’t see you around!” Margaret boomed, startling Steve. 

Mike smiled. “Been busy, sweetheart. You’re as ravishing as ever,” Mike said, kissing her proffered hand.  


“You watch out for these traveling salesmen, Steve. They’ll break your heart.” Margaret winked at him and wandered off. Mike sighed while Steve quietly panicked at Margaret’s suggestion and grabbed at any safe topic of conversation he could think of. 

“I guess you’re a traveling salesman?”

“Shoes. Do better in the rural areas than the city, but I have to make the rounds.”

Steve nodded. 

“You?” Mike shifted closer again, his body a solid wall of muscle next to and over Steve. 

Blood roaring in his ears, Steve tried to think of a coherent answer. “Artist.”

Mike looked down at the sketchbook. “Hey, wow, you’re good!”

“Thank you.” Steve swallowed the last of his beer, trying not to look as nervous as he felt. He wasn’t even sure what he was feeling, or what he wanted. He wasn’t a girl, and he didn’t want to marry the guy, but something about him put Steve’s entire body into heat. He felt like an idiot.

“Hey, calm down,” Mike said softly, putting his hand on Steve’s forearm. It was a heavy touch but not restraining, similar to how Bucky would hold him at night when he crashed over after a boxing match gone badly. Steve felt his blush flare. 

“I’m fine.” Steve pulled his arm back.

Mike studied him for a moment. “Why don’t we go get a burger at Stewart’s Cafeteria?”

“I’m, uh, sorry, kind of flat.”

“My treat. Everyone needs shoes, whether they like it or not, so I had a good quarter. C’mon.” Mike elbowed him familiarly, as if they were buddies. Steve swallowed and nodded. 

They left together, which no one seemed to notice. The cafeteria was not empty but it was not late enough for the gay post-clubbing crowds to show up, so they were granted a little privacy. They sat in a booth and drank black coffee while Mike told hysterical stories of trying to sell dress shoes to farmer’s wives. When they were lingering over pie, Mike took a deep breath.

“How old are you, really?”

Steve shook his head. “I’m really sixteen.”

“Okay.”

“I know I look young, but I’m sixteen.” Steve reiterated. 

Mike took a bite of pie and swallowed before replying. He leaned over the table, whispering. “And you’re beautiful, okay? Let me fuck you.” 

Steve stuttered for a second. “No! I’m not…that’s not me.”

Mike leaned back in the seat, his hands set neutrally on the table. “I think it is you.” 

“I’m not a fairy,” Steve hissed quietly. 

“Good. That’s not what I like.” Mike leaned forward again, looking around just in case before whispering to Steve again. “I like guys, okay? I’m queer. I don’t want to fuck girls, or boys who want to be girls, or men who look like girls. I want to fuck men. And you are a damn pretty man, and I want you. So agree and come back to my apartment with me already.” 

Blushing furiously, Steve shook his head. “I don’t know.” 

Mike’s mouth dropped open. “Jesus, you’re a virgin!”

Steve squared his shoulders. “No, I’m not.”

“With guys you are. You ever been with a guy at all?”

Steve thought about lying, but decided he had nothing to gain either way. He shook his head. 

Mike rubbed his face. “God. Okay, please, I’m begging you, come home with me.”

Steve knew what his answer was going to be. He had known it since the first moment Mike brushed up against him at the bar. The man was handsome and strong, funny and smart, and Steve had been sporting a hard on through half of their meal. He knew what it would mean, letting his man take him: that Steve would be just another pansy taking it up the ass. But he also knew his answer, and so he nodded. Mike sighed in relief. 

“C’mon, I’m not far from here. If anyone asks, you’re my out of town cousin staying overnight before heading out to the west coast.” Mike dropped his money and got out of the booth. Steve followed, feeling clumsy. 

Mike’s bachelor apartment was a shoe box, but it was neat and clean and he lived by himself. Steve stood in the middle of it, looking at the bed nervously. Mike came up behind him him, rubbing his hands up and down Steve’s arms. 

“Look, you should know: I do this too.”

Steve pulled himself away. “What?”

Mike shrugged. “I take it sometimes, too. It doesn’t make us less as men. It really doesn’t. We’re just queer. So if we do this, it doesn’t make you into anything. You’re not a fairy because you lay down for me.”

“Yeah? Then what am I?” Steve crossed his arms, feeling swamped. 

“Gorgeous.”

“Oh please.”

“No, I mean it. You’re small, but you’re a real man. You walk like a man, talk like one; but you’re so fucking pretty I want to eat you up.” Mike stepped forward and tipped Steve’s chin up. “You want this, Steve. Don’t pretend you don’t.”

Steve just nodded, feeling close to tears because God help him, he really did want it. He wanted Mike all over him, on top of him, holding him down…and he lost his breath and all track of his thoughts as Mike leaned over and kissed him. Steve’s hands grabbed his shirt before he realized he had done it, trying ineffectually to drag the larger man to him. It was nothing at all like the polite kissing Eunice had given him, which had merely been enough to warm his blood. Mike trapped Steve in his arms and kissed the life out of him, lips and tongue and teeth and no restraint. Steve tried to climb Mike like a tree, clutching at him and rising up onto his toes to push himself closer. Mike’s tongue was hot in his mouth and Steve’s blood boiled so hard he felt dazed by it. It was nothing he had expected, and everything he never knew he craved. He felt wanton and every thought of Bucky or what anyone would say about what he was doing fell away as quickly as his inhibitions. 

Mike took him, thoroughly and slowly, on the floor. He said the bed creaked too much and he didn’t want the neighbors suspicious, and that was fine with Steve. He was past caring by the time Mike had two Vaseline-slicked fingers up Steve’s ass, and then it was all a blur when Mike shoved himself inside of Steve and fucked him into the ground. Steve was face down with Mike curled over him, their sweat mingling as Mike hammered his hips, taking Steve’s virginity more surely than Eunice ever did. Steve came biting his own arm, Mike’s slick hand pumping his dick as Mike slid in and out of his body, whispering sweet nothings and filthy encouragements into Steve’s ear. Mike finally came with a slamming thrust that threw them both forward, groaning as his cum filled Steve up. Steve could feel Mike’s dick throbbing inside of him and he would have come again himself if it had happened ten minutes later. Mike rested for a moment as his dick emptied then he pulled out, yanked Steve onto his back and kissed him hard. Steve kissed back, happy and sated and confused all at the same time.

They stayed on the floor for hours as Mike showed Steve a whole new world of pleasure, and when Steve stumbled out the door at five a.m., Mike held his face in his hands and told him he was the most beautiful, handsome man he had ever met. Steve didn’t understand and didn’t believe him, but he kissed Mike goodbye as if they were in love. 

Steve never saw him again. Margaret said Mike married some woman upstate and resettled there, living a normal life, but Steve remembered the way Mike looked at him that night as he left and sincerely doubted that Mike would ever be happy being “normal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stewart's Cafeteria chain was a large, popular diner in the 20s and 30s, and the ones in the Village and Harlem were generally acknowledged "gay cafeterias" especially at late night after all the "regular" patrons had gone home for the evening.


	5. Chapter 5

A few days after his night with Mike, Steve took the trains into the city again. He knew from Margaret’s warnings that Charlie’s publishing company was probably on the short side of legitimate, but Steve was broke. And something had changed in him, from hanging out at Little Buck’s and going home with Mike. Steve was not too sure what it was that had changed, really, but he was sixteen and for the first time in his life he felt like a man who could handle anything — even if he still looked like a little guy who couldn’t throw a punch. 

He rode the trains and buses until the ended up at a seedy-looking office building not too far outside of the wild, jazzy world of Harlem. Charlie’s business was on the second floor. 

“Can I help you?” A guy not much older than Steve sat at a desk in the front office, with a type writer in front of him and papers strewn about his desk.

“Charlie Harper asked me to drop by. I’m an artist.” Steve tacked on the last because he did not want the guy thinking it was a personal call.

He smiled. “Hey, that’s great! I’m Terrance.” He stood up and held out his hand. “Let me tell Charlie you’re here. What was your name?”

“Steve.” A sudden bout of paranoia had him leaving off his last name. The guy just smiled again and disappeared into the back. 

Charlie came out, jovial as ever and completely sober for a change. He hustled Steve into the back rooms. One was Charlie’s office, and the other was a very small room set up with a drafting table and a task light, although the room was situated for good sunlight from the tall window. There were art supplies strewn all over, and everything had a smear of dirt and grime. Steve knew from experience that art was a dirty job, but this reeked more of neglect. 

“So our last artist got himself banged up in the pen. Great guy but a total drunk and went on a bender, won’t go into details, but even when he gets out he’s fired. I need an artist, a professional who can work on a deadline.”

Steve felt like he was being hired on the spot, as opposed to being interviewed. “No offense, mister, but I kind of need to know what I’d be drawing.”

Charlie nodded his head with a snap and went back to his office. He returned holding a bunch of small newsprint fliers in his hands. “You ever hear of Tijuana Bibles?”

“Oh, hell.” Steve took the books Charlie handed to him. Everyone had heard of Tijuana Bibles, which were cheap throw-away pornographic cartoon books. Bucky claimed to have bought one once but that was a lie, because if he had he would have shown it to Steve. They were highly illicit and beyond immoral, and rumor also had it that they (like most of the illicit things in New York City) were backed by gangsters. Charlie didn’t look too much like a gangster, but he did look worried as Steve flipped through the little “books.” They were cheaply produced and the art was terrible, although a couple were funny in a crude way. They were nothing but pornography masquerading as comedy, with humongous oversized dicks and fat-assed women not wearing any underwear. Even as terrible as they were, though, Steve had to admit a couple of panels stirred him up just a little. “Jeeze. You want me to draw this?”

Charlie nodded, unrepentant. “Terrance and I write the stories. He likes girls, puts a lot of normal fucking into them, which is good because I don’t go for gash at all. All you need to do is illustrate them. Hey, you like girls?”

“Yeah, I do. I like ‘em a lot. Hope to settle down with one some day.”

“Good kid.” Charlie patted him on the shoulder as if he was Steve’s uncle. “Somebody has too.”

Steve snorted in amusement, still flipping through the books. In all honesty, he knew he could draw much better comics, and pretty quickly too. 

“We keep names out of it, of course. No one will know it’s you unless you tell ‘em. My company also publishes dime novels, though, so you can tell ‘em you work for me straight up. Might even have you do some book covers if things work out. Pay is $15 a week, I expect you here full time.”

Steve’s cousins were barely clearing $20 a week at jobs they had held for years, and Steve’s own resources from doing odd jobs for neighbors were running low. He wasn’t a virgin anymore in any sense of the word so he couldn’t really claim prudery about the content. Throwing the books on the drawing table, he held out his hand. 

“It’s a deal.”

Charlie grinned and they shook on it. 

Steve spent the rest of the day cleaning his “studio” and finagling a few dollars out of Charlie to go buy some new art supplies. By the time the sun was setting, the place was not quite as dirty or depressing, and Steve figured he would be ready to go with his first assignment the next day with his new pencils and inks and cleaned up pen nibs.

“So, let’s go get some food.” Charlie stood in the doorway with his coat slung over his arm.

“Oh, well, thanks, but—” 

“On me. Just this once! Sort of a welcome to the team celebration, okay? Nothing special, there’s an automat up the street. Meeting some friends, if that’s okay?”

Steve picked up on the stress added to the word “friends” and knew exactly what Charlie meant. But he wasn’t about to turn down a free meal, so he nodded and grabbed his coat. 

The automat was small but busy, and Charlie slid them into a table off to one side. They were joined quickly by a few other men, but no fairies. Still, it was easy for Steve to figure out that they were all queer. They thought at first that Steve was Charlie’s latest squeeze, but Charlie was a good egg about it and let them know the situation, although he stopped short of actually mentioning what he had hired Steve to draw. 

The other three men barely registered with Steve as they talked about mutual friends and plays they were going to and outfits they planned to wear. Steve was too busy watching the people around them. 

The whole place was gay.

It was easy to miss, but Steve had been going out to Little Bucks and watching the men there long enough to pick up the signs. The subtle gestures and the knowing looks added up to a lot. 

When dinner was over, Steve stumbled out behind Charlie, still trying to process what he had seen. Charlie gave him a quick once over. 

“You are kind of new to this, aren’t you?”

Steve nodded. 

Charlie shrugged. “You seem alright. Look, you want some action, you could go up to the West Side Y, but I think you’d get more out of the Everard bath house on 28th. Young guy like you needs to work off some steam, you know?” Charlie leered at him, then laughed. “But don’t stay out all night getting laid. Eight a.m. sharp tomorrow morning!” He slapped Steve on the back and wandered off. 

It was only six-thirty. Steve looked down the street in the direction of Everard. He wasn’t too sure what he would find there, but he’d heard rumors about the YMCA houses for young men, so he figured he had something of an idea. Fingering the dollar and change in his pocket that he had planned to save for going out later that week with Bucky, Steve took his first steps towards the bath house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Wiki on Tijuana bibles](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tijuana_bible)
> 
> "Treat 'em Right Publishing" was a real publishing company in New York, but it was shut down in 1936 when the Society for the Suppression of Vice raided them for printing pornography. The only thing I used was the name, as very little else is known about it; Charlie, Terrance and its location are all fabricated.
> 
> The [Everard bath house](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Everard_Baths) was one of the most famous in New York City and was in continual operation from it's opening in 1888 to when it shut down in 1985. By the 1930s it was a preeminent staple of the gay scene in the city.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~NOTE ADDED WARNINGS~
> 
> This chapter contains very violent imagery and a rape scene. Steve is not the victim, but he witnesses the event. It is described vividly here, not as titillation but in order to convey the very real dangers that gay men of era the faced. If you are at all sensitive to these issues, you might want to skip this chapter.

Steve’s awkward honeymoon with the seedy underbelly of New York ended on January 21st, 1936. He was seventeen and had been working for Charley for nearly a year and half, and was a regular at Little Buck’s and occasionally the Everard. He had not been with too many other men since Mike, because he was picky and more importantly he did not want to get a reputation as a pansy. Everyone assumed he was anyway because of his size, so Steve always worked really hard to look and talk like a normal guy wherever he went. 

And, it was dangerous. Raids happened, and Margaret got culled one weekend when Steve wasn’t at the club. He never saw her again, although rumor had it she slipped bond and headed west to California in order to avoid jail time. The Society for the Suppression of Vice was active because of the bible thumpers, and the gangster-owned politicians catered to the moral hypocrisy because they wanted to look clean even when they played all the dirtiest games in town. Society had rules, and queers and fairies broke those rules. No club, bath house or cafeteria was safe from being raided, and while that didn’t actually stop anyone, it made for a general sense of paranoia. 

Steve had seen a fairy or two get a beating in his time in Brooklyn. They were easy prey for drunks and thugs, and that was just how the world worked. Steve had been smacked around a lot in his own life and seen too many good women sporting bruises from where their husbands hit them so he had no tolerance for it. He was maybe a buck-twenty and 5’6”, but he rarely let that stop him from trying to break up anything if he saw it happening. 

Bucky called him a trouble magnet but Steve just hated bullies. It was that simple.

On January 21st, he was coming from Little Buck’s a little buzzed, a bit horny, and a lot lonely. Steve had not really planned on going out at all, but Bucky had stopped by that evening to let Steve know that he had a date with a new girl. Bucky and Ann were on the outs again for a while, although Steve expected them make up (again) eventually, so Steve had wished him luck. Bucky grinned like a fool, which sent Steve’s insides to rumbling in ways that Steve was not prepared to think about. Instead he had gone out, but on the whole his heart wasn’t in it and he had left the club still feeling down.

It was well after two a.m. in the morning by the time he was back in his own neighborhood. He could walk the route from the train station to his flat blind folded, and he was tired and lost in thought until he saw a pansyie not much bigger than he was stumbling along. He jogged up and tapped him on his shoulder.

“Hey buddy, you in the right place?” Steve asked, catching the kid by his elbow. He looked younger than Steve, although with the make up and the dim light on the street it was hard to tell exactly his age. 

“Think I took the wrong stop?” The kid looked around, confused. He was drunk or stoned or both, and it was clear he did not know where he was.

“Yeah, maybe. You live in Brooklyn, right?” 

The kid nodded. He was barely bigger than Steve, and while he was dressed in trousers he was wearing a boa and a floppy hat along with the face paint. A bright green handkerchief trailed out of his front pocket. Steve shook his head. “You need to get home, you know—” 

“Hey faggots!” 

Steve cringed. There were a couple of rough gangs in his neighborhood, guys who were unemployed for the most part and spent what little money they scored on booze. They left Steve alone most of the time because they knew Bucky, and Bucky’s fists, but it was a bad time to run into them and Steve knew it.

“Someone’s lost, I’m just helping him get turned around,” Steve answered, trying to sound calm.

“Turned around, huh? Getting the little pussy to turn over for you? Could at least keep it to the alleys.” The front runner, a dark-haired and cruel-eyed man who called himself Duke, strutted up to him. Steve could smell the liquor from ten feet away. 

“No, he’s just lost.” Steve reached for the kid, who had frozen stiff in terror, but was pulled back by one of Duke’s thugs. 

“Never figured you to be the man, Rogers. Always thought you’d be one bending over.”

“Leave the kid alone.” Steve bristled, for all the good it did him.

“Pretty, aren’t you?” Duke grabbed the kid’s chin and looked down at him. “Yeah, just like a girl. Let’s show the little pansy how guys like to have fun.” He pushed the kid into the arms of one of his other thugs. “Hey, bring Rogers. We’ll show him how it’s done.” 

That was when the kid finally started screaming and kicking, and Steve followed suit, but they were easily dragged back into a maze of alleys where no one would care to walk without a gun. 

They didn’t do anything to Steve other than hold him still. They traded off, handing him from one to the other, keeping a hand over Steve’s mouth so he could only watch in muted horror as they each took turns beating and raping the kid. Steve kicked and thrashed but he was helpless, often held up in the air off his feet, trapped in the arms of brutal and violent men. The kid screamed until he ran out of breath. Each of the five guys took their time, hitting the kid and banging his head on the ground as they fucked him bloody. 

In the end, they dropped Steve like trash as they left. Duke gave the kid several sharp, quick kicks in the chest as they all walked out of the alley, laughing. Steve scrambled over to where the kid lay, shaking and gasping for air as blood foamed out of his mouth. 

“Oh God, oh God, please, don’t die. Hang on, I’ll get help. C’mon, kid,” Steve cried as he held him to his chest, cradling him as his life drained away in pain and fear. 

There was no one to tell. There was nothing to do. The kid was a queer and the cops would just say he got what he asked for. No one would take Steve’s word over that of Duke anyway. The fairy had done nothing other than look different, want different things, and he had died for it. 

Steve walked out of the alley alone. He did not know the kid’s name, but he tucked his bright green handkerchief into his pocket. When he got back to his place, he tied it around the frame of his bed and dreamed of a different life, one where he was big and strong enough to stop men like Duke.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If you skipped the last chapter due to the violence, here is a recap: Steve witnessed a brutal assault and was helpless to prevent it. Life goes on, but Steve does talk about the incident in this chapter so it might be a little triggery.

Bucky fell across Steve’s bed melodramatically. “I’m done, my friend. Bury me.”

“You won the match?” Steve said from his desk, where he was absently sketching. It was late on a Wednesday, so there was no point in going out, most of the clubs were closed or half-empty and he had work in the morning anyway. But he usually tried to wait until he knew for sure Bucky wasn’t coming over before going to bed. He would always stay up to keep Bucky company, and if a small greedy part of him hoped Bucky would stay the night at least he didn’t have to admit it out loud. 

“Sure did, buddy. I figure we — what’s this?”

Steve looked up to see Bucky fingering the large green handkerchief still tied to the frame of the bed.

“Jeeze, Steve, all the fags are wearing these things now. Tell me you aren’t stepping out with this, because that would be stupid. You’d give everyone the wrong idea.”

“No, I’m not ‘advertising’ with a green handkerchief. Jeeze. It’s not mine.”

Bucky’s eyebrows climbed up his skull. Steve threw his pencil at Bucky. “No! No, no way. That’s not why I have it.”

“So it’s not a trophy?” Bucky snickered at the ridiculousness of it. “Then why do you have it?” Bucky sat up, a slight wince giving away the fact that his boxing match earlier had probably not been an easy one. He threw the pencil back with a graceful ease that burned jealously in Steve’s soul, as much as he tried to deny it. 

“It belonged to someone.”

Bucky just stared at him.

“He’s dead.” Steve tapped the paper he had been working on, staring at it, unsurprised to find out he had been working on yet another study of Bucky’s features. 

“Damnit, Steve. It was that little fairy they dragged out from behind O’Malley’s shop, isn’t it? The one who was beaten to death? What the hell, you stole this off a corpse?”

“Yeah, I guess I did.”

That stopped Bucky cold. “No, you didn’t. That’s not like you, Steve.”

Steve closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “It was Duke.”

“That asshole!” Bucky snarled.

“Yeah. It was late, I was trying to help the poor kid get home, he was lost, and Duke’s gang grabbed us.”

Bucky expression went ice cold as he stood up slowly. “Did he—? Jesus, Steve, did he lay a hand on you? I will castrate him, I will make him eat his balls—”

“No! His guys just held me back while they worked the kid over. Mostly to teach me a lesson. God, Bucky, they hurt him bad. They killed him.” Steve rubbed his eyes. He felt heavy hands on his shoulders, Bucky standing behind him, solid and warm and comforting.

“You shouldn’t see stuff like that. That’s not something I’d ever want you to know about,” Bucky said softly.

“I keep trying to think of a way to stop him, to bring him down. But…it’s Duke. He’s got everyone scared or in his pocket, and it’s not like I’d do anything but sign my own death warrant by trying to take him in a fight. He needs to be stopped, Bucky, before he ever does anything like that again. That kid, he was just drunk and lost. He didn’t do anything wrong.”

Bucky massaged Steve’s shoulders. “He should have stayed with his friends. Fairies are only safe in packs.”

Steve shoved Bucky off of him. “He shouldn’t have to! He should have been safe to walk the street at night! This is America! Our streets should be safe for everyone to walk at night!”

Bucky held his hands up. “Okay, you’re right. You’re right. Always count on you to take the high road.”

“I don’t always.”

Bucky stared at him levelly. “Since when?”

Steve shook his head. He couldn’t tell Bucky about the Tijuana Bibles or his visits to the bath house, it was too much and it wasn’t the point of the conversation.

“I just mean I wish I could do something to Duke. Fight him, take him down, something.”

Bucky snorted in agreement, sitting back down on the bed. “Even the gangsters don’t want him, he’s too stupid and high-strung.”

Steve tilted his head to look up over at him. “How do you know that?”

“You forget where I spend most of my nights, my friend. I don’t hang out with the classy Broadway crowd.” Bucky smiled with his teeth bared, an unpleasant but fierce look. 

Steve crossed his arms. “He doesn’t have any protection, then.”

Bucky looked thoughtful. “The cops don’t like him, he causes too much trouble…but not enough trouble for them to shut him down. He’s gang is a decent enforcer for them, when they don’t want to teach someone a lesson through official channels, so they use him when they can and push him to the side otherwise. They wouldn’t miss him.” Bucky added the last phrase carefully, looking meaningfully at Steve.

“We’re not murderers, Buck,” Steve said softly. 

Bucky shrugged. “You can’t get him for tax evasion,” he said, referring to the recent incarceration of Al Capone. 

“If he were caught in the act?”

“Of what? Shop lifting? Beating up a Jew? Who would care? The cops use him to beat people up, the gangsters don’t care.” Bucky sighed. “It’s Brooklyn. Getting beaten up is kind of like a right of passage here. No one’s going to bang up Duke for dishing that out.”

“He murdered that kid in cold blood, Bucky. If you think I’m going to stand by and let him get away with that—” 

“I don’t! But I also don’t know what you expect us to do about it. You said it: we’re not murderers. He is.”

Steve opened and closed his mouth for a second. “Murder.”

Bucky sat up, alarmed. “Steve? No. Whatever you are thinking, forget it!” 

“Listen to me!” Steve hissed, and Bucky shut up. He crossed his arms belligerently, though, letting Steve know that he was not happy. “Look, Duke needs to go away, far away. For a long time. The only thing that will do that is a murder rap.”

Bucky opened and closed his mouth a few times before answering. “Are you seriously suggesting framing him for murder?”

Steve shrugged. “It’s not framing him if he actually did it.”

“Steve, I know you care, but believe me: no one else is going to care about that fairy. He wasn’t from this neighborhood, and he was a fag. We could have a photograph of Duke killing that kid and no one would give a damn. I hate that as much as you do, but you know I’m right.” Bucky rubbed his thighs. 

“Nah, not that kid. No, it would have to be someone else.”

“You lost me.”

“He’ll do it again. And he’ll do it to someone who matters to someone. He probably already has, we just weren’t looking.”

Bucky cocked his head. “You’re talking about trailing him until he kills again? Steve, we both have jobs. And anyway, if I see that asshole hurting anyone, I’m going to step in.”

“Look, if I thought we could do that, I would suggest it. I know we can’t; he’s going to hurt people and for now, there is nothing we can do to stop him. But the next time it happens, we’ll know. We can implicate him to the cops, and get him sent off.”

“If anyone cares.”

“You said it yourself, he’s stupid. He’ll pick on the wrong person eventually.” Steve sighed. “I’m not happy about having to wait until after the fact, but that’s what we’re left with. We just need to be prepared for when it happens.”

“Prepared how?”

Steve stood up and started pacing. “He’s got his gang, who give him alibis whenever he gets accused of something, I bet.”

Bucky nodded. “True.”

“So it would have to be something…something that would prove he did it.”

“We don’t even know what ‘it’ is,” Bucky rolled his eyes.

“Murder. I’m sure of that, Buck. He’s going to kill again, alone or with his gang. Me might even go after a girl next time.”

“Dead hookers wash up every morning,” Bucky said, sounding too old and weary. Steve stopped pacing to squeeze his shoulder. Bucky sighed. “It won’t matter, even if we catch him in cold blood. Police won’t care.”

Steve nodded, but then something about what Bucky said clicked. “Wait.”

“What?”

“You said the police won’t care.”

Bucky nodded slowly, giving Steve a perplexed glare. “Riiiiight.”

“What about the mob?”

“Which one? Jews can’t stand him any more than the Italians.” 

“Doesn’t matter which one.”

“You lost me.”

Steve bounced around the room, thinking. “Police don’t have any reason to take Duke out, but they won’t go out of their way to protect him. You said it yourself, the mob guys don’t like Duke because he’s stupid. Well, maybe he’s just stupid enough to get himself in trouble.”

“Steve, the mob ain’t gonna care who Duke beats up. He’s not so dumb as to pick a fight with them, anyway.”

“Right! Right, they don’t care about that. They _do_ care about money!”

“Steve. I’m trying to follow you here, but I have no idea what the hell you are talking about.” 

“If they think Duke’s messed with their money, they’d teach him a lesson.” Steve poked Bucky in the chest.

Bucky stared at him in dawning realization. “You mean set him up for a robbery? Rob the mob? Are you insane?”

“No. We don’t have to actually rob them. We just…hmmm.” Steve folded his arms over his chest. “We have to give Duke the option of not doing it. He has to bring this down on himself. All we need to do is present the opportunity.”

“If they think he’s dicking around with their money, they’ll kill him as soon as run him out of town. You know that, Steve,” Bucky poked Steve back. 

“Like I said, this has to be his call. He can not take the bait, and keep beating people up in peace. But if he does take it, if he does what I think he’d do when presented with easy money, then whatever happens is on his own head.”

Bucky sat on the bed, blinking at him. “Steve, you’re a scary bastard sometimes.”

“He’s a bully and sometimes the only way to take a bully down is to sic a bigger bully on him.” Steve smiled, but Bucky’s expression went dark.

“That what you think of me?”

“What?” Steve shook his head. “What are you talking about?”

“Am I your bigger bully? Is that why you keep me around?”

Steve almost gasped from shock. He reached out and put his hands on Bucky’s shoulders. “You’re my friend. We look out for each other. Even if you never broke up any of my fights, we’d still be friends. God, Bucky, how can you think anything else? You’re everything to me, all the family I got left really.”

Bucky gave him a jerky nod. Steve stepped up and gave him a hug. Outside of spooning in bed when they fell asleep, they were not very affectionate, but sometimes it felt okay to simply comfort each other. They did it less the older they got, but it still brought up memories of when they were very young and would hide under stairwells huddled up together, keeping out the cold and all the terrible things adults rained down upon them. Bucky squeezed back, hard and sure, then pushed Steve away. Steve let him, patting him on his shoulder as he stepped backwards. Bucky was flushed, probably in embarrassment, and kept his gaze locked on the floor. 

“I’m just saying, the mob keeps the peace here better than the cops. If we can use them to stop Duke, then that’s what we’ll do.”

Bucky shook his head with a wry grin on his face. “Too smart for your own good, Rogers.”

Steve nodded, confidence pushing up in him. He had Bucky at his back, and he had a plan.


	8. Chapter 8

The problem with Steve’s plan was that both he and Bucky had avoided the post-Prohibition gangsters out of a sense of self preservation. It was bad enough when they were kids and turf wars broke out over liquor but since the repeal, organized crime had become more brutal and less visible. Most of the people Bucky had been a runner for just two years earlier were either dead or in jail, while the gangsters he knew from the gambling and boxing scene were distant with him. The Jews and the Italians had closed ranks, which made sense, but also made Steve’s plan to trap Duke into a corner of his own greed almost impossible. 

A month after their first talk about it, a grocer’s daughter ended up in the hospital. Gossip at the barber shop said that she had been defiled and beaten, but that she wasn’t talking to the cops and her parents were going to send her to family somewhere out West in order to escape the scandal once she was well enough to travel. Reading between the lines, it was obvious that the parents were worried that the girl might have been knocked up. Steve knew the girl, Cecelia, who was young and pretty and dainty and not unlike the fairy he had watched Duke murder. Steve knew exactly what happened, but he needed to be sure.

“Steve, no. Cecelia’s been through enough,” Bucky hissed at him over their beers when Steve proposed his idea.

“We need to know for sure, Bucky. I need to talk to her.”

“No. That’s final. Final! No!” Bucky slammed his hand into Steve’s back, pressing him down on the stool. 

“Fine. You stay here. I’ll be back,” Steve squirmed away and stood up. 

“No no no no no! Damnit, Steve, you’re one hot headed fool. Get back here!” Bucky slammed the last of his beer as he hopped up to follow Steve out of the bar. He kept grabbing at Steve as they walked towards the hospital. “You’re crazy, you know that? Stop! No!” 

Steve shoved him off and brushed his hands away. “You don’t have to help!”

“Of course I do! Because you don’t know any better! You always shoot first, Rogers, and then expect me to be around to do clean up.” 

“I don’t expect you to clean up, you’re just always there. I can take care of myself.” Steve took a deep breath as he stomped along, trying to keep his lungs going. He figured at the very least, if he had an asthma attack he’d already be at the hospital anyway. 

“Aw, shit, Steve. God damn it. Okay! Fine!” Bucky patted him down as Steve gulped for air. “Just calm down. Breathe. We’ll do this. And when we get arrested, remember to let me take the fall, okay?” Bucky gave him a resigned smile. 

Steve gulped for air. “Not…not gonna get arrested. Now come on.”

They got to the hospital and went to the ladies’ ward on the third floor as if they belonged there. When they got near a nurses station, Steve’s plan, such as it was, consisted of Bucky charming a nurse for information while Steve wheezed to the side. As with most plans that relied on Bucky’s ability to sweet talk, it was successful, and after the nurse made a production of listening to Steve’s lungs (she frowned a lot) in order to impress Bucky, they made their escape. 

“Room 327. Private, unguarded. Her family might be there, you know.”

“No, Saturday’s are always busy at the store. With Cecelia out her dad needs everyone there to help.”

“Man, you thought of everything,” Bucky complained.

“Stick with me, kid, we’ll go places.”

Bucky rolled his eyes as they got near the room. “Yeah, stinky hospital wards.”

Steve put his hand out. “Stay here, keep guard. If anyone comes, act like you’re pulling me out of the wrong room, I’m here to visit my sister and we’re in the wrong place.”

“That won’t be hard, because we’re in the wrong place,” Bucky murmured as Steve approached the room, but he leaned against the wall like any other afternoon visitor. 

Steve cracked the heavy door open and stepped into the room. It was small, no bigger than a closet, but it at least had a window that was propped open for a breeze. 

“Cecelia?”

“Steve?” The girl looked up from her book with big round eyes, one of which was swollen shut with a livid bruise around it. She was pale and other bruises were peppered down her arms, some of which looked like finger marks. “Steve Rogers? What are you doing here?”

“Actually, I hate to do this to you, but I’m here to ask you a few questions.”

She blanched. “You should leave.”

“No no, listen. All I need to know is if Duke did this.”

“I already talked to the cops. Get out.” She closed her book and looked away. 

“Cecelia, I’m not the cops. I don’t care about the cops. I care about Duke hurting people in our neighborhood.”

“Like you can do anything to stop him? The cops don’t even care! They know who did it, I told them! But they don’t care!” He voice started rising. 

“I know! I know that! Jeeze, Cecelia, come on. I’ve been shopping at your dad’s store my whole life. Come on. Trust me!”

She pursed her lips but at least looked at him again. 

“I don’t need to know what he did. I don’t need to know how it happened. I just need to be _sure_ , Cecelia.”

She nodded. “Like I said, I told the cops it was him. Doesn’t matter. But it was Duke. It was!” Her eyes watered and Steve shifted uncomfortably on his feet. 

“I know, I believe you. I’ve seen him hurt people before.”

She glared at him. “Can you stop him?”

Steve sighed. “Honestly? Probably not. But Bucky and me, we’re up to here with this. Bad enough we got the gangsters running every bar and crap game in town, and the cops all on the take. Now this? Someone’s got to stop that bully. It’s just got to stop.”

“He won’t stop. Not until he’s _dead_ ,” she said, spitting the word out. 

Steve flinched. “Well, we’re not those kinds of guys. I have an idea, which might not work. But it’s something. It won’t get him killed but might get him run out of town.”

She looked like she was going to say more, but stopped. After a few moments, she tried again. “If I can help, I want to help.”

“I thought your folk were sending you to family out West.”

She crossed her arms. The black eye and the bruises made her look like a parody of a little girl. It turned Steve’s stomach. She shook her head. “No. I’m not going anywhere. I belong in Brooklyn, and I’m not leaving. I won’t let that trash chase me out of my home.”

Steve shrugged. “I don’t think you can help. I’ll let you know if that changes.”

“You better, Steve Rogers.”

“We’ll do what we can, Cecelia. Don’t expect miracles.” 

Her eyes narrowed. “You’ve got that Barnes boy with you, don’t you?”

Steve shrugged again. “He’s my best friend.”

Her expression turned appraising and thoughtful. “Okay. Just don’t get yourself in another scrap, you can’t take him.”

“That’s not the plan, believe me. Not this time, anyway,” he said with a small smile. 

She nodded and her eyes went watery again. Steve said goodbye hastily and walked out before she broke down in tears, which was one thing he knew he would not handle well.

Bucky eyed him. “You sure talk smart with the ladies when it doesn’t do you any good.”

Steve slapped at his arm and started walking down the hallway. “She’s just a kid, what, fourteen? And she’s been hurt.”

“Yeah. I peeked in. That bastard did her up good. I don’t know what we can do Steve, but I want to do it.”

“Spoken like a true Barnes man.”

Bucky slapped the back of his head and Steve snickered. Steve was angry about Cecelia, but glad he had a chance to talk to her. It proved what he had said to Bucky about Duke, and it meant that whatever they had to do to chase Duke out of town was justified. 

The plan was to have Bucky warm up to a runner, a kid who might give Bucky some inside information. The problem was that Bucky was on the “outside” and while he could talk them up they weren’t too forthcoming. One of the Italian ones asked if he was interested in becoming a “made man” and Bucky backed off quickly. There was also the danger that if Steve and Bucky somehow arranged a confrontation, Duke might hurt or even kill the runner. They went back and forth for a week trying to figure out the thorny problem, until the following Saturday when Steve was at the grocery store. 

“Steve Rogers! I’m so glad you’re here!” Cecelia said brightly as he picked up a can of beans. 

“Uh. Thanks?” He looked over at where Cecelia’s father was watching them with guarded eyes from behind the front counter. “How are you?”

“Much better! I was hoping to see you.” Her back was to her father and she gave Steve a pointed look.

“Oh! Yes! Glad to see you too?” Steve smiled. 

“You want a soda?” 

“Sure. Yeah. That would be great,” Steve answered, trailing her as she went towards the back of the small store. 

She handed him the orange soda. “What about Duke?” She whispered

Steve smiled and nodded at the soda in his hands as if it was the greatest thing ever. “I don’t know, we’re trying to set up a sting, but keep the mob out of it. It’s not simple. But we’ll figure something out.”

She grabbed a tin of coffee and showed it to him as if trying to get him to buy it. “I might be able to help with that.”

Steve took the tin skeptically. “Cecelia—”

“Trust me!” She pointed at the coffee and leaned in just a little, whispering again. “Send Barnes by on Monday afternoon. I’ll know then if I can help!”

Steve frowned but put the coffee in his bag. “Okay.” 

She smiled and walked back to her father, who was clearly displeased about anyone talking to her (she still looked bruised about the face, so there was no hiding from people what had happened). Cecelia was behind the counter, standing just out of her father’s peripheral vision, and wore a dark, angry expression. Steve gave her father his best, most harmless-looking smile, paid for his food and extra coffee, and got out of there. 

Bucky had a boxing match set up so they only had time to grab supper together at their usual diner, and for a change Ann was not around. Bucky shrugged when Steve told him what happened at the grocery.

“Everyone shops there. She’s got contacts I can’t match. Everyone at the bars know me, know who I used to work for and that I don’t work for anyone now. I’m low man on the ladder, just a boxer and sometimes bouncer. She might be the ‘in’ we need.”

Steve frowned at his grilled cheese sandwich. “I don’t like it.”

“Steve, part of doing something like this is working as a team. You and I aren’t getting anywhere by ourselves. Cecelia is a kid but she’s scrappy and she’s got an interest in this.”

“You talk like you’ve done something like this before.”

“You know I haven’t. But I’ve watched the mob long enough; they aren’t strong just because the guy at the top is smarter than all the other scum. They’re strong because everyone works for the same goal, because the mob boss keeps everyone in line so that they are all playing the game plan he lays out. The wild cards don’t last. They get taken out or absorbed.”

“You make the mob sound like something out of _Amazing Stories_ ,” Steve said, wrinkling his nose as thoughts of H.P. Lovecraft floated through his mind. 

Bucky thought about that, then nodded. “Honestly I think they are.”

Steve laughed and went back to picking at his food, despite his lack of appetite. There was nothing to do but wait until Monday to see what Cecelia had to offer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical note: There were lots of small, family run grocery stores in cities in the 1930s - the big chains were just being founded and had not made inroads yet. However a "grocery" store in 1936 was more along the line of what we would call a dry goods store; they sold flour, coffee, tobacco, canned goods, soda, etc. Produce, baked goods and meat would usually be purchased separately at a produce dealer, a bakery, and a butchers respectively. 
> 
> TBH shopping sounds like it was exhausting back then. :P


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been a bitch to write, for a variety of reasons, mostly boiling down to keeping Steve from going OOC, which is harder than it sounds. :(
> 
> In the end it took two people giving me advice and direction in order make this chapter happen at all. I owe Ladygray99 and Tawg my deepest gratitude for pulling me out of the pit of indecision and despair I had fallen into, and for giving me the motivation to keep going until this particular mini-arc was done. Thanks, my friends! ♥

What it came down to was Cecelia and Bucky building up a network of people who hated Duke for one reason or another. Steve was not really sure how it all happened, but he was suddenly at the center of a sprawling web of discontent. He set up a system so that those who were in a position to report Duke’s movements either reported to Cecelia via the store or Bucky via the clubs, but there were a few people who shunned even that much risk. For them, Steve rigged a system of hidey-holes in public places where anonymous notes could be dropped off. Cecelia passed on the information she received in coffee tins she put in his bag whenever he went shopping. Looking at the growing pile of tins in his room, Steve figured he was amassing a coffee stash that would last him until at least 1950. 

It was all very cloak-and-dagger which was almost fun. The problem was that Duke was a man of set habits that were regular and expected. Getting him “off the beaten track” for anything like a sting was proving to be beyond Steve’s ability to figure out. 

He sat staring at his planning notebook, seeing Duke’s routine laid out clearly before him: the people he met with, the cops who paid him off for odd jobs intimidating people, the whores he visited regularly and the other guys who made up his “crew.” He was rarely alone, and often drunk, and never ever vulnerable. 

“You look like you swallowed a bug or something,” Bucky said, propped up on Steve’s bed with a bottle of rum. He had fought with Anne the day before so they were on one of their off periods of their on-again/off-again romance, and Bucky was reacting the way he usually did when that happened: skipping work and hiding out at Steve’s with a bottle of booze. Steve didn’t mind too much, it at least kept Bucky off the streets and out of fights. Bucky always complained about Steve picking fights with guys but that was the pot calling the kettle black, as far as Steve was concerned. 

Steve was on an old rickety metal chair that had probably once belonged to the local public school when Steve was a baby. He sat with his feet on the bed. 

“I think I’m going to call off this plan with Duke. I can’t make it work,” Steve sighed, closing his notebook.

“You’ve been planning this out like a military operation, Steve. We've got at least ten people wrapped up in being your field agents, like some kind of Hitchcock movie. You can’t just call it off.” Bucky took a swig of the rum and passed the bottle to Steve, who allowed himself a generous swallow. Steve was not fond of getting drunk but he liked a good buzz as much as the next guy. 

Steve opened his mouth but closed it when his cousins stumbled through the flat from the back bedroom, just heading off to work on the night shift and already stinking of hot machine oil and sweat in their old coveralls. They barely exchanged greetings as they slammed the front door behind them. Steve and Bucky just stared after them, then shrugged at each other. Bucky took another hit from the bottle. “You have to figure something out.”

“I can’t!” Steve sighed. 

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Yes, you can. You know I remember when we were kids and all you wanted was to grow up and be a cop. You wanted to clean up the streets! So now you can. Clean out that scum, send him someplace else.”

Steve tossed the notebook onto his little desk. 

“Aw, Steve. C’mon. You’re the one who hates the guy. I think the only one who hates him more than you do is Cecelia.”

“That doesn’t mean I can just send him packing. He’s got his boys around him, he’s in with the cops even if they are willing to throw him under the bus, and the gangsters keep him at arm’s length. According to reports he pays his whores, doesn’t have a bill run up anywhere.” Steve crossed his arms and tipped the chair back onto its rear legs. He startled when Bucky pulled the chair back down.

“You’ll fall and hit your head, and cry like a girl,” Bucky said smugly as he settled back against the wall. 

“I think you got us confused,” Steve snapped, although there was no heat in the bickering.

Bucky took another swig of rum. “Look, give it another week. Let’s see what happens. If you don’t have a plan by then, we’ll spread the word that the deal is off.” 

Steve studied his friend carefully. There was something there, something that bothered Steve in the way that Bucky’s eyes flashed with a dark, secret purpose. But that was how Bucky worked, Steve knew that, so he wrote it off. 

“Sure, okay. Deal.”

“Great.” Bucky put the bottle on the window sill. “You mind if I crash out here?”

“I’ve got work in the morning, Bucky. Don’t keep me up with your snoring.”

“Don’t keep me up with your damn kicking.”

“Don’t keep me up with your damn wandering hands.”

Bucky laughed. “Dream on, Romeo. C’mon, let’s sleep.”

Steve curled up in the shelter of Bucky’s body, which even at 18 was still hitting random growth spurts, hardening and widening and getting stronger. It was usually (secretly) Steve’s favorite place to be, but the matter with Duke weighed on his mind and he could not shake his unease. 

He woke up and rolled over to see Bucky flipping through his planning notebook. Steve rubbed his eyes and yawned.

Bucky was already dressed, and that threw Steve off. Bucky usually worked late hours and slept until noon, so it was more common for Steve to sneak out to his job while Bucky snored away. “What’s up?”

“Hey. Nothing, I promised my aunt to come over and help with some house repairs. Her husband’s brother is a carpenter, and he’s said he’ll teach me some stuff if I help out.” He put the notebook down.

Steve sat up. “Oh hey! That’s swell!”

“Yeah, I could use a trade or something. I can’t keep boxing for money too much longer. It’s learn carpentry or go into the Army.”

Steve gulped. “Army wouldn’t be bad,” he offered, although his heart dropped.

“Nah, but it’s not my first choice. Would rather stay in Brooklyn, you know?” Bucky grinned and chucked Steve’s chin. Steve grinned back at him as Bucky grabbed his hat. “Gotta go. It’s seven a.m., time for you to get up anyway, sleepyhead.”

“Yeah yeah. Go away.” Steve pulled his legs out of bed, his toes barely sweeping the ground. Bucky waved and went out. 

Things went on as usual in Operation Stop Duke for a couple days, which was to say things didn’t go anywhere at all, when suddenly an opportunity opened up. Steve stared at the note Cecelia had tucked in his coffee, then shared it with Bucky, who read it and shrugged because by itself, the information meant nothing. Steve put the new information into the notebook, studied it, and decided that it was time to move. Duke had suddenly started going off alone to meet with a new girl, and Steve noticed that his path happened to cross that of a mob runner. He thought that if they somehow dropped that fact into Duke’s ear, along with a mention of how much money the runner usually carried, he might take the bait. All Steve needed was one observer, hidden well out of the way, to snitch to the mob afterward. It put the runner into a precarious position, as chances were good that Duke would get violent, but Bucky swore to Steve that the runners knew the risks and could take care of themselves. 

“I’ve got just the guy to snitch,” Bucky said, nodding, when Steve explained the plan.

“No, it’s gonna be me.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Bucky—”

“No.”

“Me, or this doesn’t happen.” Steve glared at him. 

Bucky sighed.

Later, when Steve put it all together, he knew that Bucky had been trying to protect him. At the moment, though, Steve felt that it was his duty to take that risk, to see it through to his plan’s end. He felt he owed that to the gay kid who had been murdered in front of him, and to everyone Duke had ever hurt. So he made arrangements for information to be passed from hand to hand to Duke, and for four nights in a row Steve hid behind some trash cans as he watched the runner make his way through the back alleys, always followed a few minutes later by Duke on his way to his girl’s apartment. On the fifth night, Duke unsurprisingly arrived early. 

The runner saw Duke and pulled up short, recognizing him. “You’re crazy if you think you can rob my boss,” the runner stated flatly.

Duke just grinned, bringing up his knife and moving in. 

Torn, Steve debated what to do for one long moment before the runner yelled out, “Now!”

Several doors opened and people flooded the alley. Steve stood up, shocked, and watched in horror as the mob descended on Duke with boards and baseball bats. Duke did not even have time to yell before the first blows hit. Steve jumped forward to stop the slaughter but arms reached out and grabbed him, pulling him back. Steve kicked futilely at his attacker.

“Shut up, Rogers!” Bucky hissed in his ear, walking backwards and dragging him away. Steve stopped fighting as Bucky hauled him off. The last Steve saw of the scene was Cecelia bringing up her hand, holding a blood-covered brick, and swinging it down. Her pretty face was contorted in rage.

Steve let Bucky manhandle him, walking him like a prisoner to Steve’s place. Steve stumbled through the door and landed on the edge of the bed. Silently, Bucky pulled out their bottle of rum and poured a heavy shot into Steve’s coffee mug. Steve took it and slugged the whole thing, coughing afterward. Bucky drank straight from the bottle, then refilled Steve’s mug. 

“You knew,” Steve said, looking bleakly up at his friend. 

Bucky wouldn’t meet his eyes, but shrugged his confession.

“That…that wasn’t my plan.” Steve stared at the liquor.

“I know.”

Steve took a few deep breaths, getting his lungs full again. Bucky watched him, shifting uncomfortably. Finally Steve looked back up at him. “What…how?”

“Cecelia. When you noticed that Duke’s path crossed with Isaac, she got the idea.”

Steve shook his head.

Bucky sighed. “Apparently she knew Isaac because his sister is a nurse at the hospital. His sister’s husband was killed by Duke and his thugs.”

Steve blinked. “They let Jewesses be nurses?”

“I think she converted to Catholic when she got married or something. Doesn’t matter, does it?” 

“No, I guess not.” Steve drank the rum, then slumped on the bed. “I wanted to stop a bully, not make more of them.”

Bucky sat down next to him, slinging a friendly, comforting arm over Steve’s shoulder. Steve leaned in to him just a little, wanting more but holding himself back. Bucky rubbed his arm. “I know. I knew from the start this would end badly.”

“Then why didn’t you stop me?” Steve pushed him back but Bucky tightened his hold. 

“When have I ever been able to stop you? Jeeze.” Bucky sighed and they both relaxed again. “Look, Steve, I know these kinds of guys. I know too many of them. They don’t stop being what they are because you teach them a lesson. They stop when they die.”

Steve blinked. “Cecelia said that…back, back a while, in the hospital. She said that. God, she planned this from the start. Damnit. I can’t believe I fell for that.”

Bucky snorted. “Not the first guy to fall for a pretty dame’s line.”

“I feel like a fool. And I got someone killed. And—”

“Sweet Jesus, Rogers, if the next words out of your mouth are ‘I should turn myself in to the cops’ then I will personally bust your ass with my own belt.”

Steve snapped his mouth shut. 

“Look, this is how the world works: bad guys are bad, and good guys stop them in whatever way they can. You’re a good guy, Steve. The best. Better than me; I wouldn’t have even tried. I’m too used to seeing that crap.” Bucky gave him a one-armed squeeze. “You keep me a good man. You remind me that the world isn’t all blood and boxing and jerks who gamble away the money for their kid’s shoes. Duke got what was coming to him, but more importantly he’s not going to hurt anyone else. Not little girls or fairies or…or you.”

“I told you, I was fine that night, they just—”

Bucky shoved him back and grabbed his shoulders, actually shaking him. “Don’t you get it? You moron! If Duke had even scented you in this he would have killed you! I couldn’t…I wouldn’t…aw, shit. Steve. I won’t make it without you, okay? So Duke had to go down. Because I need to know you’re safe. I won’t ever regret what happened tonight. Never. Because you’re safe now, that’s what’s important to me.” Bucky gave him a final hard shake and then jumped up from the bed, pacing the room. 

Steve had nothing to say to him. He knew that if their situation was reversed, he’d feel the same. He could not imagine losing Bucky; just the thought of Bucky getting married and starting his own family was enough to make Steve’s heart ache. He could not even conceive of what he would do if Bucky ever managed to get himself killed. 

“I’m sorry.” Steve focused on the floor, unable to look Bucky in the eyes.

Bucky sat down again and hugged him. “Just be safe, Steve. I can’t always be there to pull you out of a mess. We’re not ten years old anymore.”

Steve just nodded and hugged back, letting himself enjoy the protection and comfort of Bucky’s arms around him. Bucky set his chin on Steve’s head the way he always used to do when they were younger, and they sat on the bed like that until Steve fell into an exhausted, guilty sleep.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG this chapter is PURE AUTHORIAL INDULGENCE. Forgive me. Or not, I don't care, I love it anyway!
> 
> Just remember: Phil Coulson, who helped Fury found the Avengers, is a huge Cap fan. He knows *everything* there is to know about Steve Rogers' official history. Just sayin'.

By early 1937, the Great Depression was starting to lift but the effects of the last seven years had done their job. One of Steve’s cousins moved out of their apartment when he got married, moving in with his wife’s family. The other one signed on with the Merchant Marines just to get out of the city. With all the noise Hitler was making in Europe, the expectation was that war was on the horizon again and people were both hopeful about the economy and worried about politics.

Steve downsized once more into a small one-room flat that was at least big enough for his bed, a dresser, and his small desk. He was still working for Charlie, although the New York Society for the Suppression of Vice had been busy shutting down and prosecuting competitors which made them all nervous. Bucky and everyone else in Brooklyn thought Steve was doing illustrations for book covers and medical texts, which he actually sometimes did do on contract. Charlie’s background was in the legitimate publishing industry so he had lots of contacts, and was willing to toss extra work Steve’s way as long as he managed to keep to deadlines. They put out a “bible” every two weeks; Steve did not even know where they were actually published or where they ended up. He saw finished copies as they flew across Charlie’s desk but it wasn’t as if Steve was going to build a portfolio based on that.

What had caught Steve’s eye, though, were the funnies. They were evolving out of being tabloid inserts into stand-alone publications with story lines, not too different from the “bibles” he drew, only not pornographic. Some were funny, some were lame, but Steve thought there was a lot of potential there. On his own time he drew an eight-pager staring a hero code-named “Hawkeye” who used a bow and arrow to hunt down Nazi spies along with his sister, a super-sexy spy, “The Black Widow.” He thought about giving them a dog like Lil’ Orphan Annie’s Sandy, but decided against it. He put his own name on the cover.

Charlie loved it but shelved it, promising to go back to it later. Steve didn’t argue, but wrote a second issue, this time adding in a robot sidekick (instead of a dog) named “Iron Man.” The robot finally sold Charlie on the whole thing, who titled it “The Amazing Avengers.” Steve thought the name was stupid but he was too pleased to have something of his own being published too argue.

He grabbed the first edition and ran out the door to show Bucky, who was less than impressed.

“This is how you finally get your name in print?” He glared at it.

Steve slumped. They were at their local bar, which was busy since work had let out around town. Bucky picked up on his disappointment, grabbing his shoulder. “Hey, it’s great, bees knees! Just, I know you are a great artist, Steve. You’ve got real talent, and what are you going to do? Write comic books for kids?”

“I’m telling you, this is the future, Bucky.” Steve tapped the comic.

“Amazing Avengers?” Bucky grinned.

“Not my idea. Charlie wanted something catchy. They aren’t actually avenging anything, they are fighting Nazi spies.” Steve sighed, sipping his beer. “I know it’s stupid, okay? But it’s got my name on it for a change.”

Bucky had the comic open and was staring. Steve blushed. 

Bucky gave him a piercing look. “You based Hawkeye on me, didn’t you?” 

Steve nodded, blushing so hard his jaw locked.

“Jeeze, Steve. That’s swell. You made your hero a version of me! With a bow and arrow. Is that because I love Robin Hood?” Bucky’s voice had gone soft and sweet as he thumbed through the small book.

Steve coughed. “Yeah.”

Bucky frowned. “No thanks for making the beautiful dame my sister. Yuck.”

“Hey, Hawkeye gets all the dames, where ever he goes. They can’t resist his manly arms.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “My manly arms? Why Stevie, I didn’t know you cared.”

“Shut up, Buckles.”

Bucky guffawed, slapping Steve on the back before turning to the comic again. “Aw, you made him a real smart ass too. Not sure I should thank you for that or not.”

“He’s the hero. Take your wins where you can get ‘em, Bucky.” Steve raised his glass in mocking salute. 

“So we’re going to celebrate?” Bucky asked, smiling, but something about the question grated at Steve.

“Isn’t that what we’re doing now?”

“Yeah, yeah, we are. I just don’t see you much anymore, thought you might be running out early.” Bucky went back to looking at the comic with obviously feigned interest.

“Well I’m working, you’re working, dating Anne—”

“We broke up. For good this time.”

Steve used both hands to set his beer down on the counter. “Since when?”

“Last weekend. First time I’ve been able to sit down and tell you.”

Steve stared at his glass, his heart and his expectations for the night dropping. Bucky would probably want to go out and cruise for girls. “I guess you’re not feeling up to celebrating, huh? I mean, I figure that’s pretty hard for you and—”

“You spend a lot of time going to the Village, wasn’t sure you’d want to hang out here.” Bucky’s look of unconcern meant nothing. Steve heard every ounce of bitterness in Bucky’s voice, and it burned.

“I never told you where I go.” He pushed himself away from the bar, dropping his voice. “You been following me, Bucky?”

Bucky gave the bartender a cold eye to scare him off before talking. “I was coming over to tell you about me and Anne. I got off work early and came by your place and you were _leaving_ it, at ten at night. All dressed up in your good suit. I thought you had a girl.”

Steve tried not to let his vertigo knock him off his stool. “You followed me.”

“Damn right I did, buddy. Got a fucking eyeful, too.” Bucky looked pained. “I’ve heard of Little Buck’s, Steve. Most bouncers have. Okay? Jesus. What a way to find out.”

“Find out what, exactly? What do you think you know?” Steve felt the words being cut out of him as he spoke, and something about it startled Bucky, who finally looked Steve in the eye. His expression went wide and open and he shook his head.

“Nothing, okay? Just that you like to go to the Village. I don’t know nothing.”

Steve put one hand out to grab the counter for balance. He hated his weaknesses, the way his heart couldn’t handle stress and his lungs never seemed to get full.

“Hey, Steve? Calm down. Here, drink your beer, it’ll fortify ya.” Bucky nervously helped him bring the mug up to his lips. The yeasty, cool drink stung a little but it did calm his nerves. “Jesus, Steve, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to rattle you. Breathe, okay?” Bucky was rubbing circles on his back. No one looked twice at them. They had been drinking there for years; the other patrons all knew that Steve’s health was dicey and that Bucky looked out for him. Bucky leaned in closely. “I don’t really care, okay? I just…you’re my best friend. I’m sorry I brought it up. Forget it. Forget I was that stupid. Can you do that? Can we?”

Steve took a deep breath. “You’re always stupid, Barnes.”

Bucky smirked back at him a little. “Like you’d know the difference, Rogers.”

Steve smiled, although he knew it looked shaky, and Bucky was still looking shifty and upset. Steve took a deep breath, knowing that the sin of omission was the same as lying but willing to pay any price to keep Bucky’s close, unguarded friendship. If Bucky really thought Steve was a queer or worse, a fairy, it would change their friendship forever. Steve could not risk that.

“I go there to draw.”

Something shifted in Bucky’s expression, but Steve darted his eyes away, hoping Bucky would buy what he was selling. Bucky took a drink of his beer before answering. “That makes sense.”

“It’s different over there. It’s like going to the circus sometimes.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard about those bohemians in the Village. Just…stay safe, okay?” Bucky relaxed a little, and Steve’s heart broke just that much. It hurt to hide the truth from his best friend, but some perversions were just inexcusable. Bucky visibly lightened up, though, and that was enough for Steve. “I mean, people could get the wrong idea, you know? Don’t forget what Duke did.”

Steve nodded solemnly. “You know I can look out for myself.”

Bucky snorted in amusement, his good mood finally returning. “Sure, if I’m two steps behind you.”

Steve grinned back at him, still feeling shaky inside, his guts twisting up. “I’m sorry about you and Anne,” Steve said, trying to sound sincere as he reached for his beer again.

“I’m not. She kept talking about getting hitched. Me? No way!” Bucky shook his head at the insanity, glad to change the subject. He picked up the comic again. “I’m proud of you, buddy. I think you’re crazy but your name is in print and I know you’ve been working hard for that.”

“On the cover.” Steve tapped the front, where “by Steve Rogers!” was written in small blocky print in the lower left corner. Bucky looked at him again, and the tension that had built between them faded away. Bucky was there for Steve, like he always was and always would be. Steve held up his glass, relief replacing vertigo.

Bucky raised his own glass with a broad smile and tapped it to Steve’s. “To your name on the cover! And to the Amazing Avenger, Hawkeye!”

Steve nearly split his face smiling as they toasted his success. It really didn’t matter if the comics sold; Charlie had promised him a run of five issues one way or the other, as a way to make up for nearly three years of anonymous effort on the “bibles”, and Steve could put the _Amazing Avengers_ together with the few medical illustrations and book covers he had managed to complete and have a professional portfolio at long last. And for a while, Bucky was single and would want to hang out with Steve more, and that would keep Steve out of the Village and away from perverted temptations. Maybe, Steve thought with a heady sense of hope, one of their double dates would finally take and Steve might have his own girl for a while.

1937 was starting out on the upswing, and Steve was going to count those blessings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The [New York Society for the Suppression of Vice](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/New_York_Society_for_the_Suppression_of_Vice) was a real thing, founded in 1873. By the late 1930s it was losing traction, and it's power had waxed and waned throughout the previous two decades. It was not actually a government organization but worked cooperatively with the the police and govt. agencies. The real Treat 'em Right Publishing company was shut down by the NYSSV in 1934; police arrested three men and confiscated 4,600 smutty books.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We start heading into real Steve/Bucky territory here, so if that's not your thing, stop now. :P

By October of 1937, Bucky was spending most nights camping out at Steve’s place because he was dead tired of his aunt’s living room. They were both nearly 20 years old, and Bucky was anxious to start acting like it, although settling down with one girl seemed like a step too far for him. Unfortunately, Steve was not too much better off despite his career as “a medical text illustrator” and sometimes-comic book artist, so they bought an old military folding cot for Bucky and made do. Steve’s land-lady looked the other way at the extra almost-tenant, and Bucky worked such crazy hours between boxing, day-laborer jobs and pick up work doing cabinetry that he was not present too often. Bucky kept making noises about joining the Army, which Steve both heartily supported and feared. Bucky was his only constant, outside of his art and the unreliable social web of the gay clubs, and Steve did not want to see him go.

Steve avoided his worries by heading into the Village regularly. He was sure that Bucky knew every time he did; he never caught Bucky trailing him but it would have been pretty hard for him not to know, really, with Steve sneaking off on odd nights looking smart. They didn’t talk about it. It wasn’t something guys talked about, and Bucky usually left off and let Steve have his fun even if he frowned every time Steve came home early the next morning stinking of cigarettes. Steve didn’t smoke because of his recurrent asthma (despite what the doctors told him about it being healthy, the smoke hurt his lungs), but most queers did, and he knew he smelled like an ashtray when he came back from the Village. Sometimes, rarely, he smelled completely refreshed after a late night at the bath house where he could be an anonymous fuck and then take a bath afterward, and those mornings Bucky was meanest, as if somehow (impossibly) he knew.

That never stopped Steve.

“Nice suit.”

“Same suit.” Steve fixed the hankie in the pocket, trying to make it look manly and not like he was a pansy. A lost cause, he knew; he had been slow to see his own reduced features as pretty, but he was sure that if one of the pansies got a hold of his face with a make up kit he’d probably look more like a girl than Mrs. Pratt, his land-lady. Plenty offered. 

“Looks good.”

“Mrs. Pratt pressed it for me.” Steve gave up. Someone at the club would probably spend too much time fixing it for him just so they could coo, anyway.

“So you still go to Little Buck’s?” Bucky asked too casually, draped over Steve’s bed.

“None of your business. Maybe I have a girl on the sly.” Steve glanced over at his friend, wondering where the conversation was going. If Bucky was suddenly getting a bee up his bonnet about Steve going gay a few times a month, then hard choices would have to be made.

“Nah. You still go to that bar. To ‘draw’, right?” Bucky propped himself up on his elbows. “Take me with you.”

Steve rolled his eyes over at him. “No.”

Bucky got up and went to the wash basin to wipe himself down. “Take me, show me what you like so much about it.”

“You wouldn’t like it, and we’re not talking about it.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes, I do. C’mon, Bucky, don’t do this.” Steve headed for the door. Suddenly his back was up against it as Bucky yanked him around and pushed him, squeezing his upper arms. Bucky glared down at him.

“You go there alone. It’s not safe, and I don’t like it. Take me with you.”

“What? I’m not a girl! I can take care of myself!”

“You were down over a month with asthma after you got in that stupid fight with the shoplifter at the drug store, now you’re bouncing off to the gay clubs all the way over in Greenwich Village! It’s not good, Steve! You’ve got to watch your health!”

Steve snarled and pushed at Bucky with everything he had, which wasn’t much, but Bucky let go anyway and stepped back. “That really what this about, Buck? Or are you fixing to lecture me about moral degeneracy?” He straightened his jacket, willing to go there in the argument because he knew Bucky still visited the whore houses at least once a month, if he could pick up the extra cash.

Bucky sighed. “Christ, I don’t care about that. Not like we don’t have fairies in Brooklyn.”

Steve swung and missed, spinning around clumsily. Bucky caught him and trapped him, Steve’s back to his chest. Steve kicked out uselessly. “I’m not a fairy!”

“Shut up! You want someone to hear you?” Bucky hissed in his ear, and the last thing Steve needed right then was to be held up against hard strong muscles, Bucky’s hips pressing into Steve’s lower back. Steve had a type, and there was a reason for that.

“Let go!”

“Fine!” Bucky shoved him away. “I didn’t mean you. You’re small but you’re a scrappy guy, no one thinks you’re fairy. I just don’t understand. And I don’t like you going to the Village alone.”

Steve saw red. “Fine, you want to go gay for the night? Put on your suit.”

Bucky’s expression turned wary. Steve pushed at him again. “You want to do this? Let’s do it! Put on your suit!”

Because if there was one thing Steve never did, it was back down from a challenge. If Bucky wanted to see the queer side of life, then he was going to damn well get an eye full.

When they got to Little Buck’s, the place was already swinging. The doorman knew Steve and winked at him as Steve led Bucky into the old speakeasy, but Bucky didn’t seem to notice. It was a legitimate establishment, or as legitimate as it could be given its main clientele.

“See, I don’t get it. You want to fuck a girl, then fuck a girl,” Bucky said as they worked their way to the bar. It was Saturday night and the pansies were flaming, swirling around in feather boas and purple fedoras (another new fad Steve had avoided at all costs) and “accidentally” grinding their hips into Bucky, who kept squirming away from them. 

“Not going to explain it to you. You’re the one who wanted to ‘protect’ me.” Steve pushed at a large, swarthy queer in a sharp suit blocking his way.

The guy turned and looked down at him. “What you want?”

“The bar.” Steve pointed.

“I can get you there, pretty.” The guy raked his eyes over Steve, trying to place him. Very few men played it the way Steve did, being a delicate, feminine queer dressed and acting like a normal guy. It intrigued some of them, and this guy was interested, which normally would have made Steve’s night.

“We’re fine, buddy. Thanks. Move on.” Bucky pushed forward and jerked his thumb, telling the guy to shove off. Before Steve could open his mouth, Bucky swept Steve under his arm and steered them to the bar like Steve was his date.

“What are you doing?” Steve hissed, pushing him off.

“That guy was trouble.”

“Jeeze, Bucky, you just made everyone here think we’re together.” Steve palmed his face. No one was going to buy him drinks after that little display.

“Well, we are.”

Steve looked up at his friend. “You idiot, not like that we aren’t.” Steve poked him.

Bucky was confused for one second before realization dawned. “Oh, hey, no!”

“Too late!”

“I didn’t like the way he was looking you!”

“But honey, I like looking at you,” the bartender, a boy about Steve’s age and looks but made up like a doll, leaned over the counter, fluttering his long eyelashes at Bucky. “Stevie can handle himself, sweetheart. Unless you’re doing all the handling?”

Bucky blinked, his mouth hanging open.

“Two gin and tonics, Missy,” Steve sighed.

“Gotcha, sister.” Missy answered, sashaying away.

“Dear Lord,” Bucky groaned.

“This was your idea!”

Bucky just shook his head.

Keeping the fairies off Bucky was Steve’s primary focus most of the night. He did manage to score a couple of drinks off a tourist from the mid-west who thought Steve had “deep, meaningful eyes” and “bee stung lips”, but that was as good as it got. He had given up any hope of quick relief the second he agreed to let Bucky come with him, but it was hard not to get horny. The club had a large contingent of real queers that night, strong looking men in fitted suits and eyes that glittered dangerously. They were everything Steve wanted and wanted to be, and it was equal parts desire and jealously that drew him to them. He never played up his effeminacy to get a man like that interested him, so few were; but occasionally lightening struck and those nights were burned into Steve’s brain. The memory of his one night with Mike still had the power to make Steve flush in embarrassment and pleasure, and it was a constant hunt for him to try and recreate that. That night, though, he was doomed to play chaperon to Bucky’s honor.

They couldn’t afford to get drunk, but Bucky paid for two rounds and with Steve paying for another two and getting one for free, they were buzzing by the time the band was on its last waltz. Bucky’s expression had frozen into one of continual amazement, so most regulars pegged him as normal and subtly teased Steve for scoring trade. It all went completely over Bucky’s head, less because of the booze than because everything was coded, a secret language to hide what proper society never wanted to see. Steve was glad for that, because half of what they were implying about him and Bucky would probably have had Bucky hitting people.

“They think we’re a couple, don’t they?” Bucky said, leaning over. He was loose and sloppy but lucid, happy despite the weirdness around him. Steve smiled at him fondly, because Bucky was there with him, not beating him up or starting a fight, just being Steve’s best friend like he always was. Like he always would be.

“Yeah. You’ve been pretty, uh, protective all night,” Steve said, shrugging, downing the last of his drink.

Bucky slapped the counter. “Damn straight! Because I’m not letting them touch you!”

Steve paused as several people around them laughed, thinking the completely wrong thing. Steve wasn’t Bucky’s, not like that. “What?” Steve almost didn’t want to hear the answer.

Bucky leaned over, poking a finger into Steve’s chest, whispering in his ear. “I thought for the longest time you come here to poke the fairies, but that’s not it, is it? I’ve watched you, and the way they look at you. You bend over for them, don’t you? Those guys, the ones in the suits, the normal looking fags. You take it, don’t you? I’ve seen you eying a few of them all night. You want it.”

Steve hit him in the chest, a futile effort. Bucky grabbed his wrist with one hand, dragging him in, locking his other hand around Steve’s neck. Steve squirmed, trying to get away, knowing he would not be able to fight Bucky off if he was determined to hurt Steve. Instead, he felt Bucky’s lips on his, hot and wet. Steve froze.

“Hey! Stop that!” Missy beat at Bucky with a towel. “Take it home, sister. Don’t get us closed down.”

“Yeah, okay.” Bucky grinned at Missy, who rolled his eyes and then winked at Steve before walking off again. Bucky turned back to Steve, who was still locked in his grip. He leaned in again to whisper in Steve’s other ear. “Don’t think I didn’t notice that the one you let buy you drinks looks a lot like me.”

Steve was done. He wasn’t sure if Bucky was teasing him for kicks or if he was just drunk or what, but he had enough of it. “Shut up, Bucky. You’re making trouble for both of us. This is what you wanted to come see, and now you’ve seen it.” Steve twisted out of Bucky’s grasp. “Let’s go home.”

Bucky lounged against the bar, looking like he was getting ready for a boxing match. “That what you do? Go home?”

Steve stepped up to Bucky and got on his tip-toes in order to lean in and whisper in Bucky’s ear. “No. I usually go to a bath house and get laid.” He shoved himself back off of Bucky, waiting. It was as much admission as bravado, and Steve was not too sure whether his friendship with Bucky was going to last the night or not.

Easy like a snake, Bucky pulled himself up and tossed a coin on the counter, which Missy snapped up before it finished spinning. “So let’s go.” A lazy grin spread over his face.

Steve didn’t bother to answer. He spun around and walked out, feeling Bucky’s gaze on him as they left the club. People parted for them and Steve got a few winks of congratulations, but he was seething and didn’t bother to acknowledge anyone until they were out on the sidewalk. He spun around and grabbed Bucky’s coat lapel.

“What is the matter with you?”

Bucky had a temper, which Steve sometimes forgot given how laid back Bucky usually was around him. Bucky’s eyes flared and he stood up straight, towering over Steve. “I don’t like what you do.”

“So you want to go to a bath house and start a fight with the first guy who tries for me?” Steve hissed as couples and groups of partiers worked their way around them.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I don’t like who you do it with.”

“Make up your mind!” Steve tried to walk off but Bucky grabbed his arm in a vice grip. They stood there, staring at each other, for several long moments. “Why’d you kiss me, Buck? What was that? You want to beat me up or fuck me?”

Steve had said it for shock value and it worked. Bucky shoved him back as if stung.

“I’m drunk, Steve. And that place messed with my mind.”

“I bet,” Steve said, rolling his eyes.

“You mess with my mind.” Bucky stepped up close to him again. “You really do. I don’t get it.”

Bucky wore a sincere confusion that hurt Steve to see, but he couldn’t answer it. “Let’s just go home, Bucky. Okay?” He tugged at Bucky’s sleeve, and Bucky started walking obediently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, as a matter of fact, doctors used to recommend smoking to asthma patients. In fact if you listen to radio ads of the era, they often feature men who claim they are doctors (who knows, really) suggesting that people who have trouble breathing or suffer from anxiety to smoke cigarettes in order to breathe easier and calm their nerves. It's very likely that someone with Steve's particular set of health problems was told to try smoking. Hard to believe today, but there you go.


	12. Chapter 12

It was a long, quiet trip back to Brooklyn as they played normal. The city never slept and plenty of people were doing the same thing they were, heading home after a night of jazz and drinks, despite the hard times. Bucky looked lost and angry the whole way, while Steve ate himself up inside wondering what was going on. When they finally spilled into their flat, Steve didn’t even bother to light a candle, he just took off his jacket to get ready for bed, hoping that Bucky’s weird mood had passed. 

Bucky slid up behind him in the dark, running his hands over Steve’s small shoulders, palming them whole. Bucky was huge next to him, his entire presence stealing all of Steve’s air.

“You gonna let me?” Bucky asked, squeezing his hands lightly. Steve could hear the uncertainty there.

“You never wanted to before.” Steve stood very still. 

“That was before I saw you making eyes at my mirror image. Jesus, Steve, you’re so fucking beautiful, you’re so—” Bucky’s words drained away, his lips and teeth nipping at Steve’s earlobe. He stifled a gasp, and Bucky chuckled. “Just for tonight.”

“It’s a bad idea,” Steve pulled himself together to step away. Bucky just followed, running the back of his hand over Steve’s cheek. They were front-to-back again, Steve wrapped inside the circle of Bucky’s strong arms. 

“Yeah, probably. But can’t stand the idea that you give them something you don’t give me. You should be mine.” 

“Bucky—”

“Are you saying no? Because I’ll never ask again, Steve.” Bucky went back to kissing his ear, his tongue flicking over the folds of skin there, touching off fireworks in Steve’s brain. 

“Bucky!” 

“Shhh. We gotta be quiet. Shhh.” Bucky’s hands dropped to Steve’s hips, pulling him in. Steve felt Bucky’s hard on pressing against his lower back, and the weirdness of it snapped him awake. He pushed his elbows back to shove Bucky off of him. Bucky groaned, but Steve turned to face him, looking up at his friend, his natural defenses warring with the heat of blood. He wanted it, and he had wanted it for years, but Bucky was the most normal guy Steve had met. He never did fairies and he sure as hell wasn’t queer.

“You never…c’mon, Buck, what’s your game?” 

Bucky rolled his eyes before looking down at him. “For a smart guy, you’re really stupid, Steve.”

“You’re still drunk,” Steve sighed. “Just go to bed.” Steve moved towards his bed, undoing his tie, only to find his hands trapped in Bucky’s. Bucky shoved him hard, pushing him backwards onto the bed, which creaked ominously under him. Steve struggled but Bucky was straddling him, holding Steve down with his superior strength and weight. He just sat there, waiting for Steve to stop, and finally Steve gave up. He stared up at Bucky who leaned forward until their foreheads touched.

“First time I saw you, Steve, when I moved here to live with my aunt, I thought you were a girl. A cute little tomboy running around picking fights. I thought you were pretty.”

“Aw, Buck.” Steve rolled his eyes. He was so tired of this fight. He wish he had been born like a regular guy, handsome and healthy, just so everyone would stop calling him a fairy. “I’m not a girl!” 

“Yeah, I figured that out. But I…I never really changed my mind, Steve. Not really.” Bucky closed the space between them and kissed Steve again, harder and wetter than he had at the club. Steve was confused and hard, his longstanding crush on his best friend warring with reason, and reason was losing fast. He gasped for breath and Bucky pulled off quickly. “You okay? Can you breathe all right?” He patted Steve’s face, worried. 

Steve just nodded, his words torn away by Bucky’s kiss. Bucky frowned at him, still holding Steve’s wrists pressed to the mattress with one hand while his other hand roamed gently over Steve’s face and neck. “I’ve been thinking about it, what you do at those clubs. What you let them do to you. It’s…Jesus, Steve, you let them…it should be me…please!” Bucky closed his eyes as he leaned down again.

This was their perfect kiss, Steve decided. It was long and passionate; Bucky pressed down hard enough to make Steve’s mouth zing, his tongue coming out to swipe along his lips and instead being sucked into Bucky’s mouth. Steve groaned, pushing his hips up.

Over the past three years, Steve learned that Mike had been right: Steve took it because he wanted it. He’d have been hard pressed to find a real guy who wanted Steve on top of him anyway, so Steve took what he could get, and that was usually a dick up his ass. Often it was fast and dirty and lacking in kisses or affection, but Steve would make it last for Bucky. It was probably the only time he would get that much out of Bucky anyway, who was sure to wake up in the morning and write it off as being drunk and horny. Steve could live with that, if he got one night under the man he loved. 

Steve turned his head to break the kiss. “Floor.”

“What?” Bucky looked down at him, addled and confused, his pupils blown wide. His dick was heavy against Steve’s thigh through both of their pants and Steve didn’t want to move, but the bed would scream everything they were doing to the whole building.

“Floor, Bucky. The bed is too noisy.”

Bucky nodded absently, crawling off of Steve and then yanking him up from the bed. Steve grabbed the top quilt and threw it down on the floor just before Bucky rolled onto his back in one smooth move. He kept pulling on Steve’s wrist until Steve fell down on top of him awkwardly. Bucky huffed in amusement but kissed Steve quickly, before Steve could get mad about it, his hands coming up to gently cradle Steve’s face and hold him in place.

Steve was straddling Bucky’s hips. The sensation of Bucky’s hands on him and the possessive and demanding kiss Bucky gave him, made Steve relax into Bucky’s touch with a low, needy moan. Bucky broke off and wrapped his arms around Steve, hugging Steve close to him as he rolled his hips up. Their erections skimmed each other, and Steve bit his tongue to keep from crying out. Bucky nuzzled his ear.

“I’ve wanted you for so long. I thought you’d throw me out of if you knew,” Bucky whispered, setting a slow pace to their grinding, one hand pressed firmly against Steve’s lower back to hold him in place. 

“No, no—never! Oh!” Steve gasped. “Me too, Bucky. God!” 

“Shhhh, shhh. Breathe, Steve. Let me feel you breathe.” Bucky moved his hands to sit over his rib cage and back, so large that they wrapped around Steve’s sides. Bucky nosed at Steve’s cheek until their foreheads were touching. Steve closed his eyes but he could feel Bucky breathing, loud and deep. “Never stop breathing,” Bucky whispered and kissed him again. They traded kisses for a while until Steve’s need became urgent and he began pushing his hips down against Bucky as hard as he could in order to get friction. 

Bucky pushed him back. In the dark of the room his eyes were colorless and glittering, bright with passion. Steve stared at him, his handsome features outlined by shadows and the flickering gas light of the street lamps outside the window. Bucky’s lips were wet and parted and he was staring intently at Steve, as if worried that Steve might run. Steve knew he probably had the same look on his own face. 

“You gonna let me?” Bucky whispered breathlessly, hugging Steve hard to his chest. 

“That what you want, Bucky?” Steve whispered back, talking and mouthing over Bucky’s neck. He felt Bucky shudder under him. 

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

Steve sighed, his hands fisting Bucky’s shirt. “You won’t. You know…you know I’ve done it before. I—”

“Shut up, I don’t want to hear about that. About _them_. Shut up.” Bucky’s voice turned hard, and he pushed Steve back as he sat up. Steve let him do what he wanted, and Bucky shoved them around until Steve was on his knees, facing the old school chair, as Bucky yanked their clothes off. Steve reached for the jar of Vaseline he kept on the dresser. Bucky snatched it out of his hand. “I know what to do. I’ve done it to girls,” Bucky said sharply, his tone an obvious cue for Steve to stay quiet, the unspoken clarification that the girls he had sodomized in the past were undoubtedly whores. Steve braced himself against the chair, his erection flagging as he nervously waited on Bucky to open him up.

Bucky did know what he was doing, though, his fingers running in and out of Steve’s ass until Steve was covering in sweat and biting his arm to stay quiet.

“So Goddamn filthy, Jesus,” Bucky cursed with a laugh as he pulled his hand free, grabbing the towel from the washbasin Steve had shoved in the corner to wipe his hand off. “Stay still. Shhh. ” 

“Bucky, Bucky! Please, damnit, don’t leave me hanging like this, I—oh!” Steve whispered harshly. He sucked in a breath as Bucky shoved his dick into him, stopping when his cock head popped through the ring of muscle. 

“Ah, fuck. Steve.” Bucky drew the words out, sighing, his hands on Steve’s hips to hold him steady. Steve was shaking so hard he thought he was going to cry, feeling Bucky fill him up as he slowly pushed in the rest of the way. Bucky pressed up against his back when he was fully seated, then pulled Steve back with him as he shifted to sit on his heels. Steve was speared on his lap, gasping for air, and Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve carefully. “Breathe, shhh, breathe with me,” Bucky whispered. Steve could feel Bucky’s chest rising and falling, and he concentrated on that until they were breathing together. He felt stuffed full and dizzy but there was no way he was going to pull off or make Bucky stop. He kept breathing along with Bucky until he stopped shaking. Bucky held one arm tight around him but started exploring with his other hand, running it gently over Steve’s stomach and thighs until he finally took Steve’s dick in hand. “You okay?” Bucky asked, teasing at Steve’s half-hard member.

“Just full. Breathing.” Steve knew he wasn’t totally coherent, but he had Bucky’s dick up his ass and he really didn’t give a damn about much of anything else. 

Bucky stroked him as he began moving his hips, his other arm hugging Steve to his chest tightly. Steve wished they were facing each other, he wanted to _see_ Bucky like this, after having fantasized about it for so long. Bucky was panting a little as he snapped his hips. His dick was large and thick, and it stroked right over that sensitive spot that always shot firecrackers up and down Steve’s spine. He gasped. 

“I love you like this, hot on my dick, all over me,” Bucky whispered. “I’ve wondered what you would look like on my lap, fuck, Steve, so perfect!” Bucky raised up on his knees a little to gain some freedom to move, and started fucking into Steve as hard as he could. Steve tipped his head back and clinched his whole body up, trying to hold himself in place, and bit his tongue to keep from crying out. Bucky kept talking, his voice low and quiet and desperate. “So fucking jealous, Steve, I know it, I can’t help it, thinking of those bastards using you up. Fuck, you’re so good; mine, all mine, Steve. They don’t care about you like I do, they don’t _care_...” 

Steve just nodded, too overwhelmed and close to coming to agree to anything rationally.

Bucky’s hand tightened around his dick, yanking on him hard. Steve fucked into his fist with every thrust Bucky made into him, his brain whiting out from overload, muscles clutching up as he hit the wall of pleasure and came. He gasped for air and could barely hear Bucky behind him, grunting to his thrusts as he squeezed the last bit of jizz out of Steve. Steve collapsed against Bucky’s chest, letting the stronger man hold him and hold him up. Bucky let go of Steve’s softening dick and wrapped both arms tightly around his waist, hamming up into him and coming with an erratic grinding. He bit down hard on the meat of Steve’s shoulder and it was all Steve could do not to shout, but he held it in until Bucky let up. 

They stayed in that position for several minutes, Bucky shaking and making small sounds of pleasure and desperation as he went soft. He did not loosen his hold, though, and his face was pressed into Steve’s neck.

Steve grabbed the soiled towel and used it to wipe himself down. Using the chair he pulled himself forward, and finally Bucky let go of him. Steve stood up shakily and turned around to see Bucky looking stunned. 

“Steve—”

“I need to get to sleep. C’mon, Bucky.” Steve handed him the towel, and Bucky mechanically cleaned himself, tossing the towel towards the dirty clothes basket when he was done. Steve pulled the quilt off the floor once Bucky stood up. He took it from Steve’s hands to throw it over the bed properly then pulled the sheets back and ushered Steve in first, climbing in behind him. He wrapped an arm around Steve in a way that was both so familiar and yet utterly new. One hand rested on Steve’s chest.

They lay there for a while, neither one falling asleep. Steve thought Bucky would push him off eventually but Bucky’s hold just got tighter. He sighed, nuzzling Steve’s hair. 

“Never stop breathing, Steve. Promise me.”

Steve nodded drowsily, too tired and confused to do anything other than agree. “I promise, Bucky. Promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An aside: Yes, Brooklyn was well lit by streetlamps in the 1930s. In fact most of New York had street lamps since the mid-1800s. While electric street lamps had been introduced before WWI, there was still a good mix of gas lamps and electric "arc" lamps throughout New York until well after WWII. For more on this, feel free to wade through the 20+ page report, "[HISTORIC STREET LAMPPOSTS](http://www.nyc.gov/html/lpc/downloads/pdf/reports/lampposts.pdf)" - it has pictures!


	13. Chapter 13

Steve woke up slowly, warm and cozy with Bucky behind him, holding him close. The only difference from all the other mornings they woke up spooned together was that they were naked. Steve hummed happily, pressing himself backwards. 

Bucky chuckled, already awake, and ran a hand up and down Steve’s side. “You okay?” 

“Yeah. You?”

Bucky didn’t answer, and Steve tensed up. “Bucky?”

“I signed up yesterday.”

Steve froze, his morning fuzziness shot through with clear panic. 

“I meant to tell you, but you were getting ready to go out. I…didn’t know what to say.”

Steve rolled away quickly, out of the circle of Bucky’s arms. He threw back the covers, got out of bed and started looking for his pants. The place was a wreck and he kicked the chair Bucky had fucked him over. 

“Hey!” Bucky was out of the bed and grabbing him.

“Let go!” Steve twisted, but Bucky held on.

“No! Listen to me! I’m 19, Steve, and got no prospects. No trade, nothing respectable to fall back on. I’m smart but who’s gonna pay me for that? Stop squirming and listen to me!” Bucky shook him and Steve froze up. Bucky let go, sighing, running his hands through his hair. He was still naked, and looked like an Adonis in the morning light that filtered through the lowered blinds. Steve’s mouth was watering but he could not bring himself to make a move. Bucky sighed again. “It could be a career for me, Steve. I could make something of my life, you know? And with the war coming, I’d be right there, doing something, not sitting on my ass here in Brooklyn.”

“Like me,” Steve snarled, snapping his pants out to put them on.

“What? No! That’s different!” Bucky followed him around as Steve put on his undershirt and looked for his belt. 

“Put on some clothes, Bucky.” Steve rinsed his face in the wash basin. He grabbed a fresh towel from under the basin, rubbing too hard to dry off, forcing the tears back. When he turned around, Bucky had pants on again, at least. 

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” Bucky snapped the words, his posture closed off. “You have talent. You’ve always been the smart one, and you can really draw. You’ve got something, Steve. You’re an artist and someday everyone is going to know your name, you’ll be famous.”

“Oh, bull!”

“I mean it! You were always the better man, between us.”

“I spend half my life in a sick bed and I’m lucky I clear 100 pounds.”

“Like that has anything to do with it. Look, you’ve always looked up to me because of my body, I get that. I’m not that special but I’m healthy, and you want that. I understand, I really do, but let me tell you something: it’s nothing special. There are 10,000 guys just like me in this city, okay? But there is only one Steve Rogers. You don’t need to go make something of yourself, Steve, because you…you’re already pretty amazing.” 

Steve had nothing to say to that. He was just a sickly kid from Brooklyn who had a history of getting beaten up by bullies and who possessed a bit of artistic talent. He was smart and if he had been born differently, if he had just been normal, then he might have really made a difference in the world.

Who was he to deny Bucky, the best guy he knew, that very chance? 

He was still thinking that through when Bucky stepped close and wrapped Steve up in his arms. “You’re everything to me, Steve. I got some family but they aren’t interested in me because they have their own problems. But you: you’re always there for me. I signed up and I’m shipping out on Monday to boot camp and the only thing I know for sure is that when I get back, you’ll be waiting here for me.”

Steve hugged him back with a sigh. “I’m not your girl, Bucky.” 

Bucky pulled back as if slapped. Steve looked up at him, unsure of what was going on. Bucky’s expression was hard and dark but Steve was not sure what it meant. Bucky was usually so easy to read, but in that moment Steve was at a loss. 

“Just…Just because of that…last night, I mean? Steve. Jesus! I know you’re not like that. I’m not saying that, Christ, you really believe that’s how I think of you?”

Steve’s mouth fell open and he pulled his arms back. They stared at each other for a moment before Steve nodded. “I know. It’s good, we’re good.”

“Because I’m not saying that. You not any less of a man to me. That was—”

“Jeeze, I get it.” Steve stepped back, letting his arms drop. He felt cold all over, everything confusing and disappointing and, suddenly, lonely. He walked over to his dresser and grabbed his hairbrush for something to do, yanking it through his hair and refusing to look at Bucky. He knew it would be like this, eventually, that Bucky would pretend it never happened or just write it off as being drunk. That Bucky had signed up for the Army and was already as good as gone from Steve’s life was icing on the cake. 

Bucky came up behind him, resting his hands on Steve’s shoulders, holding him in place. Steve dropped his head in defeat. 

“You know, I did it once before.”

Steve’s head snapped up. “What?”

“Not like last night. It was with a fairy. I was curious, okay? So one time when I had the dough for a hooker, I bought a fairy. He was pretty, I guess. It was okay. Been with girls who were worse at it.”

“You never told me,” Steve frowned, still looking at the hairbrush in his hand.

“I didn’t want you thinking that I thought that way about you. You’ve been going to the Village for a few years now, and…part of me just didn’t want to know.”

“We can forget about last night. I wish we could.”

“You do?” Bucky looked surprised.

“You mean, do I wish I could forget being like a fairy hooker you used up once?” Steve shrugged out of Bucky’s hands. 

“You know what? No. No, I’m not done here, because it’s not like that. You’re not a girl, you’re not a fairy, you’re Steve Rogers and damnit.” Bucky grabbed him and easily shoved Steve up against the dresser, kissing him. Steve couldn’t push him off if he wanted to, but he didn’t want to, so he grabbed the waist of Bucky’s pants and tugged, trying to get him closer. He was a pathetic queer if this was really what got him going, but Steve did not want to let go if Bucky was going to let him hang on. Bucky pulled back slowly. “You make me crazy. You’re my best friend and you’re like a brother but this…this is just between us, okay? I don’t want a fairy, I’m not into guys at all. I don’t understand why you want me that way, why you lay down for me but I can’t question it. It’s just you.” He kissed Steve softly again and Steve melted into it. They stood there kissing for a long time until Steve gently pushed Bucky away.

“I always said you were the crazy one, Barnes.”

Bucky gave him a little, friendly shove. “Up yours, Steve. Let’s go get some breakfast.”

“My treat again?” Steve sassed, trying to find his feet as he got dressed. 

“When I get back on leave with my first Army pay, I’ll take you out to a steak dinner and drink you under the table. Shouldn’t be hard, you’re no good after a pint anyway.”

It was on Steve’s tongue to say “That’s not what you said last night,” but he held back. Bucky gave him a confused look but Steve’s intent must have been written on his face because for the first time in years, Bucky _blushed_.

“God, shut UP Steve!” Bucky yanked on his shirt, buttoning it fast and then throwing on his jacket. “Food. C’mon. We have a whole weekend ahead of us! The future awaits!” 

Laughing, Steve grabbed his coat and followed Bucky out of the door.


	14. Chapter 14

By 1940 war was on the horizon, Steve had a decent portfolio, and Bucky was made sergeant and stationed safely at Fort Drum, which was at least close enough for him to visit on leave. Despite worries and fears, the economy was buzzing on the possibility of war, and everything from manufacturing to comic books were experiencing an upswing. The Amazing Avengers had actually run for twenty issues, and Steve introduced two secret favorites of his: the Hulk, a former Merchant Marine who was a giant bruiser and served as the team’s enforcer; and a Gypsy spy he named the Scarlet Witch, who wasn’t popular with anyone other than Steve and Bucky (who had asked for, and received, a large drawing by Steve of her scantily dressed so that Bucky could hang it in his locker like a pin up; it had lead to a nice sideline for Steve of drawing commissioned pin-ups for soldiers). But then Superman hit in 1938 and all anyone wanted was superheroes, not heroic super-spies. Clever, witty assassins went the way of the Thin Man. One of top movies of the year was Disney’s _Fantasia_ , and Bucky kept sending him letters telling him to get work at the Disney Studios, but Steve honestly did not see much of a future for himself there. He loved Snow White and Micky Mouse as much as anyone, but he preferred grittier topics. 

Terrance had taken over the publishing house in 1939 when Charlie got brought up on indecency charges for lewd behavior in public, which Steve found out meant that Charlie got caught fucking a very young fairy in a public parking garage. He went up for two years. It was bad luck and bad timing, and it could happen to any one of them, so Steve took the lesson to heart. He stopped going to Little Buck’s (which had changed name and ownership by then) and kept to quick runs to the bath house every couple of weeks when his needs got pressing. 

It really wasn’t that Steve didn’t want to date girls, it was just that girls did not particularly seem interested in a small, fragile guy who drew book illustrations and comics for a living. Bucky had plenty of girls to spare in the meantime and wrote Steve coded letters about his conquests, who mostly seemed to be nurses. Steve pretended he wasn’t jealous, because he was in love with Bucky but it wasn’t like that between them and never could be. Bucky would find the girl of his dreams and Steve would, hopefully, find someone eventually and they would all get married and have kids. When he wasn’t worried about the possibility of war with the Germans, Steve spent a lot of time thinking about how he and Bucky would have houses on the same block in Brooklyn and raise their families together. 

It was silly, and Steve knew it, but he was 22 years old, living by himself and turning out a little too queer for his own tastes. Dreaming of a normal life, in his home town, with his best friend, was sometimes the only thing that got him out of bed in the morning. 

That, and Bucky’s visits home. 

Steve was used to living a double life due to his secret perversion, but it became bizarre when Bucky was back on leave. They would double date and sometimes Bucky would go home with a girl, but often by morning he was back at Steve’s place, fucking Steve on the floor until they were both slicked with sweat like race horses. They didn’t talk about it and Steve never suggested a return to any of the gay clubs. Bucky was normal every which way that counted except for when it came to Steve, and Steve was not a stupid man. He was not going to question his luck. He was old enough and experienced enough to know that he, himself, was a genuine pervert. He loved girls, they were as attractive to him as any Adonis he saw at the bath house, but they didn’t return those feelings and so the chances of him finding one to marry were slim. He tried to date and a couple of times even rented a hooker just to remember what a woman’s breasts felt like in his hands. That never stopped his craving for men, though, and he unhappily suspected it never would. What had not really crossed Steve’s mind was that soon, none of that would matter.

On Sunday, December 7, 1941, Steve ditched church (again) because Bucky was on leave and sleeping next to him, wearing pajamas to ward off the cold but still smelling like sex. Steve was bundled up in several layers of clothes himself, having fought off a chest cold a few weeks ago. They had not even gone out the night before because Bucky had spent most of Saturday traveling. He had a short three-day leave and when he got in around 11 pm, he mumbled hello into Steve’s shoulder as they hugged and then collapsed into bed. They had fucked sometime in the early morning when Bucky roused up a hard on and pulled Steve’s pajama pants down enough to rub their dicks together fast and dirty until they both nearly passed out again, clutched in each others arms. 

They woke up incredibly late at nine am and spent the morning talking over coffee from the percolator Steve had smuggled into his flat. They finally headed out sometime after noon, and first went shopping for a new hat for Bucky. Finally wandering into a cafeteria around two, they were finishing their coffee when a guy threw open the door to the restaurant and shouted. “Turn on the God damn radio!” 

People hissed at his language but the waitress duly turned on the old cranky radio that usually only got used on Friday nights when the swing jazz shows were on. Steve knew CBS’s “The World Today” news program had started at 2:30, so he was sure it was something important.

Everyone listened in stunned silence as news reporter Charles Daly repeated his announcement that two hours earlier, the Japanese had attacked Pearl Harbor. The show shifted to a Washington D.C. reporter, who filled in what little information was known, which wasn’t much other than that the military installation at Oahu had been attacked. 

Bucky looked pole axed, staring out at nothing. The crowd in the cafeteria stayed exactly where they sat, and Steve could almost feel the whole of Brooklyn coming to a standstill. Cars stopped running, people stopped talking, and the sidewalk hawker selling ties outside the restaurant went quiet. The radio had been turned up as loud as it could reasonably go, and the staticky chatter of the broadcasters filled in all the silence of the people listening in. There were people gathered by the door who had wandered by and heard the news. 

After the first round of announcements, the waitresses started plying people with coffee and refusing payment. They served everyone, the people standing by the door and strangers walking in who looked like they were in shock. Soon the place was wall to wall with people listening to the radio. Steve scooted over for two small kids who were scared and confused while their mother held a handkerchief to her face. Bucky pulled her down to sit with him, pushing his coffee to her as she cried. Steve split the last of his pie for the little boys, which at least gave them something to do while the world crumbled around them. 

By the time the third run through of the same information started, Bucky was nervous and ready to leave. They paid for their food and left extra so the lady could buy something for her sons while she stayed to listen to the rehash of events. 

“I gotta go back. We’ll be mustering out, this means war. Steve!” Bucky walked so fast Steve could barely keep up. 

“I know, I know. It’s okay. We’ll get you to the train station. C’mon.” 

“Japan! Those fuckers. I hope I get there. I hope I get to shoot some of them,” Bucky snarled and stalked the sidewalk, easily dodging people who were frozen around doorways, listening in to the same radio broadcast. Steve didn’t miss a word of it was they walked down the sidewalk, the story blaring from every building. 

“This puts us in the war, Bucky. This means we finally go up against the Nazi’s too.”

“You think? Yeah, I guess so. They’ve been egging for it since Poland. Jesus, why do assholes rule the world?”

“Because they just happen to be the smartest bullies on the block. Not that different from the mob,” Steve said, shrugging, still nearly at a jog to keep up with Bucky. After a couple of blocks his breath turned wheezy but he kept going, knowing the drive that was pushing Bucky to pack up and get back to his Army post. 

Bucky stopped and turned around so quickly Steve ran into him. “Calm down. Damn, I can hear you trying to breathe.”

Steve shook his head. “I’m fine.”

Bucky frowned at him but started walking again, although much more slowly. Steve tried not to think of how grateful he was for that. 

“Who knows when I’ll get leave again. I mean, things are going to be crazy for a few months while Roosevelt gets everything lined up. I may get shipped out, I might not.”

Steve shoved his hands in his pockets. “I know that. Just stay in touch.”

Bucky nodded, already lost in the thought of being sent to war. Steve mostly stood as witness while Bucky changed back into his uniform, repacked his bag and headed for the train station. Steve went with him, because he couldn’t not go. No one else would see Bucky off, and there was no telling when Bucky would get back to Brooklyn, if ever. Steve refused to think about that.

Bucky finally caught a train headed for Fort Drum, along with dozens of other soldiers who appeared out of the woodwork wearing pressed uniforms and weeping womenfolk. There were a few older men in outdated uniforms, veterans of the Great War determined to present themselves for duty, along with younger men who had probably signed up on their way to the station. Steve watched with closely guarded jealousy as that fraternity of men, which included Bucky but not Steve, nodded at each other in calm support. Steve waved the train away with a cheer, Bucky smiling grimly at him with his fist raised in determination from one of the windows in coach. Steve stood among the families left behind, watching the train move away, uncertainty and fear hanging heavy in the air around them. War was next, but no one actually knew what that would entail, or how long it would last, or the price that would be paid for victory. 

Steve left the train station and headed for the closest Army office to sign up. He figured that they would officially be at war within the next couple of days, so he had a good chance of being taken on despite his infirmities. He was damned and determined to try, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regarding Charlie: men caught in compromising positions with other men could have wildly different sentences, depending on the mood of the times and the judge. They could be fined $50 and ten days in jail all the way up to seven years hard time; very few men fought the charges because it was always a public humiliation either way. But even the smaller sentencings usually resulted in complete desctruction via lost jobs, ruined marriages, destroyed reputations, and social exile from friends/family. 
> 
> The announcement of the Pearl Harbor attack by CBS's show "The World Today": <http://www.authentichistory.com/1939-1945/1-war/2-PH/19411207_1431_CBS_The_World_Today.html>
> 
> Also, I apologize for the use of the term "Gypsy" but given that this story is from Steve's POV, that is the word he would have used, being completely ignorant of Romani history and oblivious to how offensive the term is.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~ I have skipped over the nearly two years prior, mostly because nothing of much interest happens to Steve (Bucky's away at war most of the time, and Steve keeps failing to sign up for the Army). This next chapter starts in 1943, after Steve has met Erskine and been recuited for his special project, while Steve is in basic training.
> 
> ~ We're moving solidly into Steve/Howard territory here, so if that bugs you this might not be the story for you. I'd like to make clear, though, that this is not Steve being unfaithful and cheating on Bucky with Howard. Keep in mind that Steve and Bucky are not actually in what either of them would call a committed relationship; they are the true definition of "friends with benefits" no matter how Steve feels about Bucky.

The first time Steve met Howard Stark, it was annoyance at first sight. 

Steve had been impressed with Stark’s flash at the exposition in New York but in person, the man was too loud with a thick, nasally mid-Western accent and enough arrogance to fill Hoover Dam. He had been introduced to Steve’s squad incidentally, as if he was someone unimportant, but Steve picked up on Dr. Erskine’s nervous glances at Stark and, more importantly, the way the two men buzzed together familiarly. Whatever Dr. Erskine was up to, Stark was in on it. 

The worst part was that Stark, dark haired and light skinned and smart and witty, reminded Steve of Bucky. Not in all ways, but enough, and Steve hated himself for that because despite the fact that Stark was untrustworthy and morally bankrupt, Steve couldn’t help but be drawn to him. 

Stark was brought in four weeks into the fourteen week training that Steve had committed to. He hooked everyone up, one by one, to machines that he did not bother to explain and ran tests. The second time Stark showed up was at the mid-term seven week mark, and as before he taped electrical wires to Steve’s chest. 

There was a familiar feel to Stark’s attentions as he applied the tape, so Steve felt safe taking a chance. He was horny and lonely and he hadn’t heard from Bucky in over a month. 

“You hook up all the boys, sir?” Steve asked innocently. 

Stark gave him a startled look, then stared at him intently before answering. “Not all of them.”

“Just the ones like me?” Steve cast his eyes down at his sunken, fragile chest.

“Variety is important,” Stark said with a crisp tone, but his fingers lingered over Steve’s nipple as he rubbed the tape down. 

“Can’t say, as I don’t get out much myself. Stuck on base and all.”

Stark licked his lips, staring at Steve. “You get leave. Sometimes.”

“Next week. Get 24 hours leave starting Friday night.” Steve threw it out, feeling brave. 

They continued the staring contest for a few more moments before Stark finally nodded. “Well you should look me up, then. I’ll show you the town.” It was a non-committal invitation, which could be taken up on or left high and dry without Steve revealing anything. 

Steve nodded, letting Stark have his space. He glanced over at the equipment he was hooked up to. “You’re not testing us, you’re testing the machine.”

Stark stopped cold in the middle of what he doing, then nodded. “Erskine was right; you’re smart.”

“Sometimes. I know what I see.” Steve settled into the bed, his eyes fixed at a point on the ceiling.

Stark leaned over him, taking up his entire view. He was close, his breath ghosting over Steve’s lips. “And what do you see, Rogers?”

It was like a stand off in an ally back home, one of any dozen of times Steve picked a fight with a guy twice his size. The challenge was bare and open. 

“You. I see you,” Steve said simply, gazing up at Stark’s brown, lustrous eyes. 

Stark’s eyes widened a fraction before he pulled back. “You don’t fuckin’ play around, do you, Rogers? I think I see what Erskine likes: you got spirit.” He was talking fast, messing with the machine, ignoring Steve’s gaze. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath to calm down, then looked at Steve. “I’ll pick you up Friday night. We’ll get some dinner, talk shop.”

It was a pretty blatant invitation, which did surprise Steve a little. “If it’s safe.”

Stark laughed, but it was a short, bitter bark that did nothing for him. “With my reputation? Yeah, Rogers, it’s safe.”

Steve nodded, because that much was true. Howard Stark was known for dating a different Hollywood starlet every week; no one would think anything other than that Stark was taking pity on Steve by showing him the town during leave. 

It was his first leave from basic, and they only gave them 24 hours. Most of the guys were dressed to the nines and heading into the small town for the bar where everyone went to on leave, hoping for fast music and easy women. Steve spent less time trying to look smart, which got him even more ribbing from the guys.

“You want to get all fresh for your boyfriend, Rogers,” Taylor mouthed off. 

Steve sat on his bunk and tied his shoes. “Stark said his girls don’t mind a guy who’s rough around the edges,” he said, not looking up. 

“Whoa, you got Stark to pick you up? How’d you rate?” Jessup snarled from across the way. The man was a bruiser but he was as stupid as a slug. 

“I guess because I was the only one here his machines could detect had a brain.” Steve picked up his jacket. 

Taylor laughed at Jessup, always quick to side with whomever was winning at the time. 

Steve ignored the rest of the cat calling and walked out into the evening air, heading for the main entrance to the camp. As promised, Howard was leaning against his car, talking to the MPs, making them laugh with off colored jokes.

“Rogers! There you are. Ready?”

The MPs gave Steve a nod for scoring a night on the town with Stark. Given what Steve knew was in the plans, it really was a blessing that Stark’s reputation created an umbrella of respectable disrespectability; everyone clearly assumed that Stark was probably hiring hookers for entertainment. Steve got into the passenger seat as Howard started the car. 

“There’s only one restaurant in this one-horse town worth eating at. I got us reservations and then we’ll head back to my place for drinks.”

Steve squinted as the scenery sped by. “You have a house here?”

Stark shrugged. “A small one. I have a mansion in New York, well, it’s construction was put on hold when the war started. Anyway I’m up here enough working with Erskine that it made sense to buy. I’ll sell it after the war for a nice profit, some officer will want it to start a family in. Good investment. I’m telling you now, Rogers: real estate. There’s going to be a boom after the war, mark my word. Buy up what you can now.”

Steve could probably buy a half a steak and a beer with what he had in the bank, but Stark lived in a different world so Steve just nodded. “If we win.”

Stark looked over at him. “You don’t think we will?”

“Nazi’s are kind of kicking ass right now.” Steve pointed out, because while opening up the second front against Russia had been stupid of Hitler, they were somehow making it work. 

“For the time being. This time next year, it’ll be a different story.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“I’m always right, don’t you know? I’m Howard Stark, hey, have we met?” Stark held out his right hand in between shifting gears, laughing. Steve smiled and shook it. 

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Stark.”

Stark held onto his hand for an extra couple of beats. “Call me Howard.”

“Howard. You can call me Steve,” Steve said, his hand going hot in Howard’s grasp. Smiling, Howard let go. 

Dinner was a nice if low-key affair. Howard even managed to keep his voice down for most of it. Rationing made for interesting dinner fare, with half the vegetables being whatever the owner was growing out back and the after-dinner “coffee” tasting suspiciously like it was cut with Postum. Steve had expected to mostly suffer through Howard’s braggadocio in return for getting some company for the night, but instead he found himself drawn into Howard’s insightful discussions about the war. The man was as well versed on politics and field maneuvers as he was on business and technology, and actually paid attention to what Steve had to say about all of it.

He looked at Steve over the rim of the cup of not-quite-coffee. “I was right, before. You’ve got a brain.”

“Not much else, but yeah, I’ve got that much,” Steve saluted with his own cup. 

Howard’s eyes went narrow and hot. “I think you’ve got more than you give yourself credit for.”

Steve looked around, but they were essentially alone in their corner of the dining room. “You don’t have to talk me up, I’m a sure thing. This was my idea, remember?”

Howard smiled slowly. “I don’t have to, but maybe I want to.”

Steve shrugged. “Okay.”

Howard sat back in his chair. “You don’t see it at all, do you?”

“If you say I’m pretty, I’ll kick you so hard in the balls that you will squeal like a girl,” Steve said calmly, sipping his not-coffee. 

Howard burst out laughing. “I like you, kid. C’mon, drinks, my place.” Howard stood up, then leaned over the table. “We’ll have some privacy there,” he whispered easily.

Steve got up and trailed after him, smiling as the restaurant owner and his wife thanked Howard profusely for his business. Howard brushed himself up next to Steve as they walked to the car, a subtle move that had the backs of their hands rubbing together for a moment. Steve had to give Howard credit: he could play a mean game of pick up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~In the movie "Captain America" there is no clear point where Steve is formally introduced to Howard Stark, that I’ve noticed. Howard is seen at the expo, and then suddenly shows up to man all the Stark-built equipment for Dr. Erskine’s serum process. For the sake of this AU, Steve and Howard are introduced by Erskine during Steve’s time in basic training. 
> 
> ~ Basic training during the war varied depending on the branch you signed up with and when you signed up. Understandably, basic training times were shortened as the war progressed to the point that in mid-1945 new recruits were lucky to get seven full weeks to learn drills and firearms. At the time Steve finally got to join up, basic was being cut down to ten or twelve weeks but I gave his group the full 14 weeks because I figured Erskine would insist upon it.


	16. Chapter 16

Steve was surprised to find that Howard’s home was a small, newer bungalow, probably built not long before the Depression had hit. It was in a suburb that was a couple of minutes outside of town, close enough to be within city limits but still surrounded by countryside. It was, of course, completely wired for electricity and indoor plumbing, and even the driveway was lit with several electric lanterns. Howard pulled around to the stand-alone garage. 

They walked into the house through the back door, heading through the kitchen to the front parlor. Howard waved a hand at the sofa as he went over to a small bar to pour them drinks. “Make yourself at home.”

“Not quite what I imagined,” Steve admitted, taking off his hat and jacket and putting them on the hat stand by the unused front door. 

“I know. Even Erskine was surprised by my lack of ostentatiousness.” Howard focused on their drinks.

Steve sat on the sofa. “Just…you tend towards over-the-top. Stands to reason.”

Howard nodded. “I didn’t start out that way. Grew up with three brothers in a place smaller than this. Kind of reminds me of home, actually, except with light switches and a water closet.”

“Oh.” Steve took his drink. He knew Howard was a self-made man, but had not really thought about it much. “You still have family? Back…home?”

Howard sat down on the couch, although not right next to him. He swirled his drink, staring at it. “Mother and my brothers died in 1920, last wave of influenza. We thought we got lucky, then all of a sudden, one right after the other. Ma was expecting at the time, too. Dad never got over it. I was eight and he made things work for us until his heart gave out when I was seventeen.” Howard slammed his drink. “I had just started college, found science and boys. Seems appropriate.” He sighed and tipped his head back against the sofa. 

“Sorry, I—”

“No, it’s okay. I don’t mind, it’s not some big secret. You’re an orphan yourself, right?”

Steve was surprised for a second before remembering that Howard had access to his files, through Erskine. “Sorta. Dad died when I was a baby, mother when I was five. Skipped around with aunts and uncles most of the time. Rented a boarding room with some cousins back in 1931. They looked out for me until I got older, helped me finish high school. Always managed to stay in Brooklyn, though, so I’m pretty grateful.” 

Howard frowned. “If you say so. Can’t say Brooklyn would be my first choice.”

Steve shrugged. He finished his drink and took Howard’s glass. “I’ll fix the next round.”

Howard waved him away but Steve felt his eyes hot on his back as he went over to the little stand-alone bar. As he checked the bottle’s tabs to see what was on offer, he heard Howard get up from the sofa. Steve wasn’t surprised when Howard manhandled him away from the bar and pressed Steve into the wall, looming over him. He was actually a lot shorter than he appeared to be onstage, surrounded by chorus girls. Still, he had several inches at least on Steve, and possibly 50 pounds. The man was packed tight with muscles, a reflection of his accent: Midwestern, hardworking, and strong. 

They didn’t say anything for a moment, sizing each other up. Steve knew the tells of men who did this a lot, the way they held him down as they held on, leading with their hips. But Howard held back from the more obvious plays, keeping both hands on the wall to either side of Steve and holding himself still. 

“Didn’t think you’d go through with this, Rogers.”

“Steve, remember? If we’re doing this, you call me Steve.”

“Thought you had a crush on that Peggy dame.”

“Not denying it. What, you think we’re getting married or something here, Howard? Just do it.”

Howard smiled like a snake, broad and filthy and dangerous. “I’ll do you.”

“Yeah, that’s what I was hoping.” Steve started working at his tie, then unbuttoned his shirt. Howard still didn’t move, bracketing Steve in with his body and his personality. 

“You’re something special,” Howard laughed. 

“Just a kid from Brooklyn, who’ll be lucky not to wash out of basic training.” Steve kicked his shoes off. 

“Nah, you’ll make it. You’re _smart_.” Howard said it reverently, like it was something special, like he saw something in Steve that got to him, and hard. “What Erskine’s got planned for you, kid, is going to be amazing. I’m building all the hardware.”

Steve leaned back against the wall, his hands resting on his belt. “We talking shop, or?”

“Damned impatient, aren’t you?”

Steve closed his eyes. “What do you want, Howard? Because I’m—”

Howard finally kissed him, a bruising kiss that set Steve’s nerves on fire. He tilted up, pushing up on his toes to reach for Howard, wrapping his arms up around the bigger man’s shoulders. It was everything he loved about men: strength and protection and passion. Bucky was already in Europe and Steve had purposefully stayed away from the clubs since the war started. He was horny and edgy from being around Peggy every day and knowing a classy lady like her would never want him, and being next to Howard Stark who was everything about men that Steve needed and wanted and craved. 

Howard shuffled in closer and Steve pulled himself higher—he’d never had much upper body strength, but basic training had at least given him a little, enough to drag himself up until his toes scraped the floor. Howard groaned, grabbed Steve’s ass and hauled him up until the were matched up, groin to groin. Steve wrapped his legs around Howard’s hips and opened his mouth wider under Howard’s barrage. There was little question who was playing the girl, which suited Steve fine. He knew what he wanted…and what he wanted was stationed somewhere in Europe, and was completely unavailable. 

He sighed when Howard just picked him up and walked them to the bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed so that Steve straddled his lap. Steve started undoing the button’s on Howard’s shirt, but stopped when large, calloused hands closed over his.

“Don’t get me wrong, Steve, but I get the feeling you don’t really want to be here,” Howard spoke softly, holding Steve’s hands still where they were poised over his chest.

Steve closed his eyes. “Sorry. I’m sorry, I’m just missing someone.” He went to move back and off of Howard’s lap, but Howard shifted one arm to wrap around his waist. They stayed like that for a few moments, then Howard released his other hand, wrapping it around Steve’s neck gently, his thumb rubbing under Steve’s jaw. Steve opened his eyes and looked at him, but Howard was focused on where his thumb was, a look of sadness in his eyes.

“I don’t know how that feels. To miss someone like that.”

“It hurts,” Steve said simply. 

“Still, you got that love inside you. That’s something…that’s something I’d chase to the ends of the world, if I thought I could find it.”

“You will. Someday.” Steve smiled, thinking of Bucky as he began unbuttoning Howard’s shirt. It wasn’t fair, really, but as long as Howard understood the score then Steve was not going to feel guilty about it. 

Howard nodded absently, leaning forward to kiss Steve’s neck. “Someday.” 

There wasn’t much to worry about neighbors hearing them making the bed creak (one advantage of a stand-alone house Steve had never considered) so Steve rode the wave as Howard rolled them over and pushed them up the bed, stripping as they went. 

"God, Steve," Howard said reverently as he kissed along Steve's neck. "You're amazing. You're going to be even more amazing, I'm going to make you king of the world."

Steve laughed but ran his fingers through Howard's hair, so thick and dark, just like— 

Howard put a finger over Steve's lips. "Shhh. It's just us here, okay?" He pushed up and settled between Steve's legs, looking down on him. He was solid and heavy, weighing the bed down, while Steve barely made an impression. Steve lifted his legs and wrapped them around Howard's hips.

"So what are you waiting for?" He smiled, knowing he was being a smart ass but enjoying it, because Howard enjoyed it too. He smirked at Steve and reached to the nightstand drawer, pulling out slick and a rubber. Steve shrugged, because he didn't care about rubbers too much. It wouldn't get in _his_ way, and if Howard wanted to glove up, that was fine with him. 

Howard slipped the rubber over himself, then settled forward on one hand, bending down to kiss Steve. "Tell me if I hurt you."

"I've done this before, and with less preparation, so get on with it!" Steve rolled his eyes. A brief expression of hurt passed over Howard's face and he focused on slicking up his fingers. Steve reached up and held his face, his small, delicate fingers a contrast to Howard's strong jaw. "You don't get this often, do you?"

Howard's dick hung between them and Steve was buck naked under the larger man, but Howard looked fragile just then, a moment when a life at odds with his desires took its toll. "That's the thing about money, kid: it can buy you everything but what you really want." He turned his head and kissed Steve's fingers. "I can find boys, here or in Hollywood or New York, but it's not…" He trailed off and shook his head once. 

"It's not real," Steve finished for him, thinking of how he felt about Bucky and Peggy, how none of it mattered because even if he lived through Erskine's experiment (and he wasn't kidding himself too much about that) he would still never get what he really wanted. A chance to serve his country, yes; any chance at happiness with the only two people he had ever been in love with, no. 

Howard took a deep breath and stroked himself with his other hand, keeping his dick hard in the johnny. "Let me have a little bit of that, just for tonight." 

Steve let go and lowered his hands, running them over Howard's thighs. Howard opened him up slowly, savoring it, and while it was clear he was experienced enough to know what he was doing, he was reveling in something he normally did not get to have. Steve wasn't sure what that was—time, privacy, or someone who didn't want Stark for his money, it could have been anything—but Howard was taking his fill.

He pushed into Steve slowly but held his pace back, making Steve insane with his steady, insistent rhythm. He was well hung and pushed Steve to his limits, more than Bucky ever had, and Steve strained against the overwhelming sensation of being taken hard. It had been too long and Steve's desires, perverted or not, had been screaming in need at him for weeks so he wasn't surprised when he came first, clutching his dick as it spurted out over his chest. Howard paused, then rolled them over so that Steve was riding him, sinking down even further until all he could feel was Howard inside of him. Dazed and needing to breathe, Steve leaned backwards and tipped his head up, opening his airways. Howard held on to Steve's waist, planted his feet on the abused mattress and pounded his hips up, driving himself into Steve spent and exhausted body until he clinched up and came with a guttural, open-mouthed cry. Steve fell forward, Howard helping him to roll over to the side. 

They lay there panting for a few minutes, and Steve suddenly realized that the lights were on. Snapping to his feet, he checked the drapes.

"What the hell are you doing? Jesus, how can you even walk? Get back here." Howard pulled off the johnny and wrapped it in a tissue to throw away. 

"I didn't think—the lights, Howard, anyone could have spied in!" Steve cursed himself for carelessness.

"The 70 year old Great War vet next door? He can't even see his own dog." Howard rolled up on to one elbow. "This isn't Brooklyn, Steve."

Steve felt silly, standing naked and covered in spunk by the drapes. "I guess not."

"Come back to bed." Howard yawned and rolled over. "Turn off the the light, the switch is by the door."

Steve stood where he was. "You're not driving me back to my post?"

Howard rolled back to look at him. "You think I'm that kind of bastard? I _like_ you Steve. I want to fuck you in the morning, then go out for breakfast and show you the half-assed workshop I've got with Erskine. You've got 24 hours leave and we're barely four hours into it."

Steve turned off the light and padded back to the bed, crawling in when Howard lifted the covers. Howard pulled him into his arms. "Things are going to change in a big way for you, Rogers, one way or the other here in a few weeks. Enjoy my hospitality while you can."

"Is that what they're calling it these days?" Steve said, jabbing his elbow at Howard behind him. Howard laughed but just pulled Steve closer as they both drifted away into sleep. Steve had to admit it was a good deal, because Howard's bed beat the hell out of his joke of a mattress at the barracks.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This short chapter picks up in the months after the serum treatment and Erskine's murder, when Steve is with the USO. No worries, we're catching up with both Bucky and Howard here soon...
> 
> Mostly I just wanted to address the fact that if Steve made propaganda movies and toured with professional entertainers, there is NO WAY he would not have been regularly hit on, as the movie suggested. Most movie makers and entertainers hired by the military were straight out of Hollywood and Broadway, contributing to the war effort, and were a worldly lot. Steve would have probably been propositioned about three times a day, I figure. LOL.

When Col. Phillips banished him to the USO, Steve wasn't too sure what to expect, but he was glad to get to do _something_. While it was frustrating as hell to be standing around in costume tights performing fake fights with fake Hitlers, Steve did understand the power of a symbol. As an artist, he knew that images could take on meaning in ways far more powerful than mere words, and he also understood the power Captain America had to inspire people to buy bonds, collect recyclables, and volunteer. People on the home front wanted a hero, someone representing their boys (and sometimes, girls) out on the front lines, and if being the icon that they rallied behind was all Steve was allowed to do, then he was glad to do it. 

Steve had an artist's eye, it was the one thing that he could say he had spent years developing professionally, so he knew full well what he looked like after the serum treatment. Objectively, staring at himself in the mirror and pretending he was looking through a window at a complete stranger (which wasn't that hard to imagine), he saw a perfect ideal of male beauty. His body was a vision of the ancient Greek athletes come to life.

What he did not quite pick up on, at first, was that everyone else around him thought the same thing. 

He was never one to go to plays often, and he liked movies a lot but had never considered being _in_ one. The burlesque performers at the gay clubs were the closest he had come to a chorus girl line up, and while privately he thought they kind of looked the same with all the pancake makeup, the girls he was working with were very different. If anything, they were even more forward than the fairies Steve had known and at first he didn't know why, until one girl called him "The American Adonis" as she pushed him into a closet. 

The first few times he ended up fucking girls were complete surprises to him. He honestly thought he was being shoved into private dressing rooms to get beaten up. That was, at least, more familiar territory, even if it had not (usually) been girls whaling on him. But ending up on his back while a pretty girl rode him was a much better way to get shoved around, even if he never saw it coming. He was terrible around girls, fumbling and shy, but that did not stop the girls at all. He was the same person he had been all his life, he was still _Steve Rogers_ , and in his mind he was the scrawny guy who was the tagalong on the double dates Bucky always set up. But to the chorus girls (and, eventually, a few of the roadies) he was Captain America, the American Adonis.

And that was all. 

To him it was an abstract, because what had always mattered most was that he had been _sickly_ his whole life. For Steve, the most significant change from the serum wasn't his looks or his size but his health: he could breathe, or hold his breath, without pain. His joints didn't ache all the time and he never got physically drained the way used to just walking to work. He felt great, and he hoped the novelty of that would never wear off. He would wake up in the morning and do 200 jumping jacks just because he could, and without breaking a sweat. It was everything he ever dreamed of, and while the price had been high with the loss of Erskine, Steve was not sure he could ever give his health up again, not willingly, not for anyone.

What everyone else cared about, though, were his looks. The costumers and make-up artists and movie directors and chorus girls and young, limber roadies all wanted him for what they saw and not for who he was. After the first few times girls caught him off guard, Steve got wise and become more finicky. He was surprised to realize he had a preference in women; previously, he had just assumed he would take whomever was interested. But with the liberty of being good-looking enough for options, Steve found himself drifting towards mouthy redheads. Some were bright gingers with a lot of freckles all over their bodies (and Steve enjoyed the process of finding that out) and some were, like Peggy, auburn haired, classic beauties. He wrote this to Bucky, in a round-about-way, who wrote back that it didn't surprise him at all that Steve liked fiery women. 

Steve never mentioned the muscular, dark-haired roadies who shifted out scenery after every show in tight tee shirts and gave Steve blow jobs in dark corners of the railroad cars devoted to freight. 

But after nearly six months, Steve was feeling like a trained monkey. The loveless sex had been fun but it became monotonous and Steve started turning down all offers. The shows he starred in were likewise: the same routine, night after night, week after week. The movies tended to be filmed quickly and were horrible. He preferred filming the educational short movies for the troops, warning them about spies and "loose" women and tropical diseases because at least then he felt like he was helping directly. 

Feeling alone and useless, Steve almost didn't care when word came down that the show was being taken over to Europe.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter picks up a couple of months after Steve's daring rescue of POWs (including Bucky) from Schmidt's lair. 
> 
> Sorry to skip over important movie moments but honestly, I don't see the point of rehashing them when I wouldn't be changing anything. To me, one important (and challenging) aspect of this version of Steve Rogers is that *externally* he is 100% canon compliant.

Steve wasn’t going to pursue the “fonduing” thing. He knew better than to take wartime love seriously, and it wasn’t as if he hadn’t fucked half the chorus line at some point before he got bored. He still felt like a first class fool around women but he knew he could bed them with his brand new body without even trying too much, which was good because it was when he _tried_ that everything went wrong. Girls threw themselves at him because of his looks, the way other women threw themselves at Howard because of his money. Not that Howard wasn’t a good looking guy, in that same dark, masculine way that Bucky had. Steve remembered very well how that body had felt on top of him. 

When Steve had come back from the HYDRA base with Bucky, Howard took one look between them and nodded knowingly at Steve. He kept his hands to himself and never offered anything more than a handshake. 

But the worst part was that Bucky acted pretty much the same as Howard. Bucky saw the compass with Peggy’s photo in it and decided that she was Steve’s “girl” in some fashion. He acted okay with it, and teased him about Peggy mercilessly when no one but the Commandos was nearby. It was as if he never missed Steve’s touch, and he let Steve take the lead in everything; not just on their missions where Steve outranked him anyway, but socially on their off-times as well. 

Steve knew he was smart, but it took him a few months to figure things out. Even after a year, he still didn’t get just how much his new physique changed people’s opinions of him. 

It was a down time between missions where they were standing around in Nowhere, France waiting for intel. Bucky was off with the Howling Commandos, getting drunk at a local and completely illegal establishment. Steve had begged off, claiming work, and then went to hunt down Howard.

“It’s my body, isn’t it?” Steve asked, sprawled on the couch that was shoved to one side of the commandeered basement where Howard had set up his impromptu lab. He was leaving half-finished machine shops and laboratories strewn across Europe, which was giving the brass a headache but mostly amused Howard. 

“I worked hard for that body. I blew out thousands of dollars of equipment to give you that body. You got something against it?” Howard didn’t look up from where he was fussing with screwing two pieces of metal together.

“No one treats me the same.”

Howard snorted. “They treat you better. Admit it, you get pussy now.”

“That’s all I get,” Steve snapped before he could stop himself. 

Howard slowly put down the metal in his hands and turned to face him. “What the hell is this about?”

“Just…you. Bucky. And oh the irony of being in France when all the gay clubs are bombed out.” Steve tilted his head back and let out a long sigh.

“I thought you had a hard on for Peggy. Still.” Howard crossed his arms.

Steve shrugged, because he did, and that was not the point. 

“And I thought you and Bucky had an arrangement.” Howard’s eyes narrowed, and Steve suddenly felt like the conversation was veering into a direction he did not understand. 

“Not since I got him back. Not since…this.” Steve waved a hand over himself. 

Howard chewed on his bottom lip. He did it a lot when he was thinking, and it was endearing in an annoying way, just like the man himself. “So you think it’s your body repelling him? Really? How naïve are you?” Howard rolled his eyes.

Steve looked at him, thinking long and hard before answering. “I spent nearly five years illustrating Tijuana bibles, Stark. In between I got fucked by businessmen who showed up at the bath houses looking for a boy like me. I don’t think you can put ‘naïve’ next to my name.”

Howard’s jaw dropped for a moment before he rallied, pointing a finger at Steve. “I want copies of those bibles.”

“Good luck with that. It’s not like I saved them for my portfolio.” Steve smiled. Howard looked determined, so Steve figured the guy was going to spend a lot of money buying bibles to try and find the ones Steve drew, but it was funny so Steve wasn’t going to argue with him about it. He planned for both of them to have a good laugh about it, after the war.

Howard turned back to his project, which just looked like a mess to Steve. “It’s not your body. Well it is your body. Okay, it’s your body.”

“Thank you for agreeing with me?” Steve shook his head.

“I mean, it’s your body, but not like you think. Jesus, you lord it over us now.”

Steve frowned. “I do not. Everyone is my equal. We’re Americans, Howard.”

Howard put his face in his hands. “Oh dear God, I can’t stand you sometimes.”

“Howard,” Steve warned. 

Howard turned on the stool and pinned him with a glare. “You’re huge, Steve. Massive. Strong. _Manly_. I don’t think that’s what Bucky signed on for, was it?” Howard paused, studying his face, then snapped his fingers. “Yep, he called you ‘pretty’ didn’t he? Back then? He took you every night and you rode him like the stallion he is.”

Things started falling into place for Steve, despite his embarrassment. “He thinks I want to fuck him.”

Howard nodded. “You’re bigger and faster and stronger than he is. He thinks that sweet little boy he used to fuck is gone; and he’s not going to bend over for the man who took his place.”

Steve opened his mouth and then closed it. After a few moments, Howard gave up and turned back around to his work, letting Steve sit there.

“That’s not what I want.”

“Oh? What do you want?” Howard frowned at the screwdriver in his hand. 

“I just miss it, that’s all. I miss…him.”

Howard flinched but didn’t turn around, and Steve couldn’t figure it out. It wasn’t as if Howard didn’t know how Steve felt about Bucky. 

“And Peggy?”

“She’s a classy lady. She’s…amazing. If we live through this war I’m going to ask her out.” Steve smiled at the thought. “I’m not an invert, Howard. I want a wife, and kids.”

“And Bucky.” Howard hunched over the table, his words accusatory.

“As my friend. What we do…that’s just extra. A little perversion between friends, you know what it’s like. Sure I miss it, but it’s not like I’ve got a wife warming my bed now, you know? Someday I will and everything will be normal.” Steve settled down, clasping his hands over his stomach. 

He wasn’t prepared for the way Howard threw the screwdriver at the stone wall above Steve’s head in pure fury. “Fuck you, Steve. Get out.”

“Hey, what…?” Steve stood up.

“Some of us _are_ inverts, okay? And as much as you miss your little perversions with your perfect damn boyfriend soldier, I’m bleeding out on the inside because I’ll never get what I want. Never! I’ll get married to a woman I don’t love and have kids I don’t want and you can just go to hell!” Howard was across the room and throwing a punch before Steve registered what he was saying, but Steve’s reflexes were sharper than Howard’s and he blocked easily enough. He stepped past Howard who was unbalanced by the lack of connecting, then grabbed Howard’s shirt and simply tossed him onto the couch. He stepped over and easily straddled him, pinning Howard’s chest with one hand while grabbing at his still flailing fist with the other. Howard bucked up, trying to throw Steve off of him. It was a pointless exercise but Howard was red-faced with rage, his teeth bared, and Steve was not going to get off of him until the man calmed down.

“Stop it! Howard! Stop! Damnit, calm down!”

Howard finally stilled but kept his sharp, angry gaze on Steve.

“I didn’t know. I didn’t know! I’m sorry, okay?”

“There’s a lot you don’t know, Rogers.”

“Yeah, I’m figuring that out.” Steve let go of Howard’s fist and sat back on his heels, still straddling him. He kept them there, like that, until Howard’s breathing evened out. Eventually Howard closed his eyes and covered his face with his hands.

“You won’t share that, will you?”

“God, Howard, I drew those bibles for years. I can keep a secret. Even from Bucky.”

Howard peeked out from between his fingers. “Bucky the Brave doesn’t know about that?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “No! He’s always looked out for me. He’d have made me stop, if he ever found out.”

Howard lowered his hands, his expression turning sharp again. “Looks like you’ve always been his girl.” 

Steve opened his mouth to protest, but stopped. He was 237 pounds of solid muscle, 6’2” tall, sitting in the lap of a man at least six inches shorter. He was a respected and admired military officer. He was _Captain America_. And yet apparently he had been Bucky’s girl for years. Chuckling, he leaned over Howard to whisper. “You’re still more of a man than he is, in some ways, _Howard_.”

He started laughing hard at the totally genuine expression of shock on Howard’s face. It was almost never that anyone could surprise Howard Stark, and Steve was really happy to be the one to do it. 

“You filthy mouthed boy!” Howard hissed gleefully, bumping his hips and his very interested manhood up against Steve’s ass. Steve laughed even harder until Howard joined him, and they rolled off the couch in hysterics until they where gasping for air on the floor. 

Steve climbed on top of him again as they calmed down, pressing their chests together. 

Howard gave an alarmed look towards the door. “Steve, don’t.”

“Everyone’s at that farmer’s barn getting drunk. The MPs are stationed at the roads.” Steve let his lips drift over Howard’s cheek. 

“God, Steve, I want to, but it’s too much of a risk. For both of us.” 

“What are you so scared of?” Steve whispered into his ear.

Howard let out a long breath, then wrapped his arms around Steve’s waist. “Don’t ask me that.” Howard nudged at Steve until their lips lined up and they were kissing, their mouths just open enough to touch tongues. Steve shuddered; he really had missed this, and he knew that made him a genuine pervert but he had seen (had drawn) worse and Howard was warm and agile in his arms and Steve just didn’t care. He chased Howard’s lips when the other man pulled back a little. 

“If we keep it simple. Hands.”

Steve pouted, and he knew he was pouting, but he had hoped for more. “You won’t fuck me?”

Howard groaned, his eyes rolling back and his hips pressing up. “Don’t say things like that!”

“No one’s taken me since the serum. It’s been a long year and half.”

“You were screwing the chorus girls, don’t lie to me,” Howard said, his words light and mocking but there was a dark tone behind them. 

“A few. You know as well as I do it’s not the same. I like it with girls more than you do but…it’s not the same.” Steve shrugged. 

“We can’t do that anymore, Steve. Don’t ask me.” Howard distracted Steve from his protests by palming his dick. 

“I don’t understand why not. You’re an invert, and I like it. We’re alone.” Steve finally ground out as Howard massaged him through his pants. 

“You’ll take what I give you, kid.” 

Steve dropped his head onto Howard’s shoulder, thrusting his hips to match the way Howard was rubbing him. “Don’t…not gonna come in my pants!”

“Oh, well, since you asked nicely.” Howard chuckled and deftly undid both of their pants.

It was easy for Steve to forget about the war, right then, just for a little while.


	19. Chapter 19

For over a year they chased Schmidt and his madness. Steve lost a few members of the Commandos, who were usually replaced by stringers — men he had originally rescued along with Bucky, but who for whatever reason had not joined up with Steve right then. Sometimes he offered a place to someone he really wanted on his team, only to be told that he was too dangerous to be around. 

It was a turnaround from the first 25 years of his life, when he was no more dangerous than a kitten. Steve still thought of himself as harmless most of the time. 

Most of the time, though, he was very dangerous indeed.

Through it all he had Bucky's friendship and, to a lesser degree, Howard's companionship. Their trysts were few and far between, usually fast and hurried hand jobs. Often, Howard would show up in the region the Commandos were trudging through with a "spare" plane large enough to transport a platoon or a "misplaced" pallet of canned goods. He would entertain everyone with tales of his latest conquests or inventions, then request time with Steve to "go over some tactical planning" which mostly just meant he was horny. But his visits amused the team, and Jacques offered to marry Stark the time he showed up with a bag of real coffee beans (which Steve wasn't too sure was actually in jest since Jacques was French, after all). 

Steve took what Howard gave him, because Bucky was standoffish physically, treating him more like the officer Steve had become than the friend and lover he had been. But Steve was not about to upset the equilibrium of their friendship, not when he had come so close to losing Bucky entirely.

He rarely saw Peggy, although he was pretty sure she got to see him regularly in the news reels that he tried to avoid being filmed in. He thought about her a lot though, wondering how he could ask her out once the war was over. He considered asking Howard about it but Howard seemed hostile towards Peggy, for no reason Steve could tell, so he didn't bother. Sometimes he just figured the war would kill him and solve all of his problems with women. 

But what Steve knew for a fact was that they were all exhausted. By the time they got a lead on Zola, everyone was running ragged. Steve didn't think he'd ever get the dirt out from under his nails from roughing it so much through the forests. If the Commandos weren't fighting, they were usually drunk, and Steve didn't have the heart to upbraid them for it. Things were hard, and everyone seemed to pick up on the fact that they were all hurtling towards a major encounter with the enemy, one way or the other. 

They had picked up Howard again, somehow, for couple of days. He was fixing Morita's radio in preparation for their march into the mountain to find a good ambush spot for Zola's train. Their intel was spotty but Steve felt confident that they could grab the scientist. 

Howard was just as confident, but far more pessimistic. "It's a damn fool stunt, and you'll get Zola killed if you don't die trying," Howard snapped, bent over pieces of radio. Jacques and Dum Dum had dragged Morita out kicking and screaming when Howard casually gutted the equipment, which was in so many ways Morita's baby. Steve and Howard were left alone in the barn, and Steve was fine with that because he was feeling crowded by the Commandos constant need for him to always be Captain America. He could relax a little around Bucky, and a lot around Howard, and Steve appreciated that more than words could express. 

"It's a calculated risk and you know it, Howard," Steve said, sighing over the maps he was studying. Howard just grumbled and finished putting the radio back together. 

"I might have increased the range, and added a few wavelengths. Won't get you the Follies out of Paris but your radioman should be able to tune into transmissions from the train. Schmidt is very German when it comes to frequencies, hates changing up." Howard stood up and popped his back. The barn they were in was solid rock, and the large tin of hot coals had warmed the place up as much as possible. Howard was down to his sleeveless tee-shirt, grimy and sweaty, his hair sticking up.

Steve laughed. "You look like a miner."

Howard rolled his eyes. "That was my dad. Guess it runs in the family."

"Nah, your son will be a well-heeled lad of the tennis set," Steve smirked. "All shined shoes and using the right fork."

"Howard Jr. will be a brat, mark my words. That _does_ run in the family," Howard laughed. "But should I maybe get married first? Isn't that how it goes? First comes love, then comes marriage…?"

Steve shook his head, still laughing. "You never do things the right way around, Howard."

Howard's expression darkened. In the weak light of the barn, with Howard's battery powered task lamp turned off, everything was tinged in red and orange, and his eyes burned bright. He stalked over to Steve.

"I think you know how messed up I am, Rogers." He pulled Steve around so he was leaning against the table, Howard pressed up against his front. 

Steve looked down at him, feeling his own passions rise. He was tired but wound up and he could always count on Howard to take the edge off. 

"You're so fucking tall. C'mere." Howard reached up and grabbed Steve's neck to pull him down into a kiss. Steve's mind was a little blurry, the exhaustion and worry wearing him down as much as Howard's persistence. 

He barely registered the footsteps of Bucky walking into the barn. 

"You fucking perv, get off him!" Bucky yanked Howard and threw him halfway across the barn. Howard stumbled, catching himself, stunned by the attack.

"You're one to talk, Barnes," Howard spit out, grabbing his discarded shirt and throwing it on. 

Steve jumped at Bucky, taking him down before his right hook could lay Howard out. However well built and hardy Howard's stock, he would not last against a former professional boxer.

"Get out, Howard! I'll deal with this."

"I'm out. Don't get killed, Steve. I'll see you when you get back from this ridiculous mission."

Steve was busy wrangling Bucky on the ground, who was thrashing, trying to break free of Steve's hold. Steve was stronger and could hurt Bucky but he was trying to just keep him from doing damage to himself, which was his mistake. Bucky fell forward, twisting around as he struck out with a solid hit to Steve's jaw. Steve cursed, reminding himself that of anyone in the Commandos, Bucky was the dirtiest and most experienced hand-to-hand fighter. Steve forcibly rolled them over so he could wrap his hands around Bucky, pinning his arms to his sides, then peeled himself up off the floor taking Bucky with him. He stood up, holding Bucky to him, chest to back, while Bucky kicked at air. Bucky's breathing turned harsh.

"Don't, Steve, Steve, don't," Bucky chanted, his movements turning jerky and panicked. 

Steve stood there in confusion for a second before the reality of what Bucky was thinking hit him. He dropped his arms and used one knee to send Bucky flying as far away from him as possible. Bucky hit the ground and spun, crouched to fight, his eyes wild.

Steve put his hands up slowly. "No, Bucky. Damnit, do you think I would hurt you like that? I'd never do that. Not to you, not to anyone! Do you even know me anymore?" Steve felt his voice rising.

Bucky stood up. "No! I don't! I don't know…this! Whatever you are now!" 

Stung, Steve stepped backwards. "I'm your friend. We're friends." 

"You let him touch you!" Bucky walked back over to him, facing him down and pointing at his chest. 

Steve smacked his hand away. "Is that what's bothering you? Now? All of a sudden? Because this wasn't a problem for us in Brooklyn."

Bucky took a half step closer. "That was different. _You_ were different."

"Yeah, Bucky! I was five-seven and a buck-ten! You could pick me up and carry me around! So what?"

Bucky just stared at him. Steve lifted his chin, glaring at his friend. "Is that what you miss? Being 'the man' for me? Is that what you thought was going on?"

Bucky's nostrils flared. "At least with me you weren't whoring around in the Village."

Steve hit him before he thought of it, his fist flying out and smashing into Bucky's chest, bowling him over. Bucky sprawled out on the floor, one hand rubbing his chest, looking daggers up at Steve. 

Steve ran a hand through his hair. "Bucky, I—"

"Don't." Bucky dropped back, his head thudding against the dirt floor. He closed his eyes, still rubbing his chest. "Don't, Steve. I was fucking out of line. I didn't mean it, I was just mad. Damnit, you make me so _mad_ , you always get to me like no one else can."

Moving slowly, Steve stepped over and then sat down next to Bucky, but kept his hands to himself. They stayed there for a few minutes while Bucky recovered. Finally he sat up. "I'm sorry I busted up your thing with Stark. I just lost my temper."

"Yeah." Steve rubbed at his face, then peered over at Bucky. "Did you think that, back then? Were you doing that with me to keep me out of trouble or something? Is that all it was?" Steve stomach churned with the idea of Bucky doing something he didn't want to do just to give Steve what he wanted. 

Bucky looked away. "No." He started rubbing his chest again.

Steve frowned. "Did I break a rib? We're going up the mountain tomorrow, you're not coming if you're injured," he said, reaching out to unbutton Bucky's shirt and have a look.

Bucky pushed his hands back. "I'm fine. I know what a cracked rib feels like. You just winded me."

"Let me see." Steve pushed back and grabbed at the shirt. 

Bucky clutched at his hands. "I'm fine!" 

"You always say that!"

"Because I am! You're the one I have to worry about…" Bucky's words trailed off and Steve stilled, holding the front of Bucky's shirt in his fists. Bucky looked up at him. "But you aren't, are you? I don't have to worry about you anymore, you're fine without me." His eyes, usually so dark, were clear with pain and loneliness.

Steve pulled him closer. "No. Never. I'll never make it without you, Buck. You know that."

Bucky shook his head, his eyes shining brighter. "You've got a girl waiting for you, and Howard to keep you warm until then I guess, right?" He laughed bitterly but didn't fight as Steve kept dragging him to his chest. 

Steve licked his lips. "Bucky."

"Steve, I…things haven't been the same. I missed you. I miss you," Bucky breathed out as Steve yanked him to his lips and kissed him. Bucky came alive, sparking with energy and crawling over Steve as they tasted each other again after nearly two years. Steve gently fell backwards, pulling Bucky over him as Bucky pressed down into the kiss, tongue fucking into Steve's mouth. Steve groaned and widened his legs, letting Bucky drop down to nestle in. 

Bucky pulled off. "You want this? Me? Really?"

"Yeah, I do." Steve just nodded and blinked, arousal hot in his blood and his dick straining his pants.

"Thought you liked Stark riding you," Bucky said, ducking his head back down to kiss along Steve's jaw.

"I don't…oh, fuck, yeah, Buck…oh, I do the riding, you know that." Steve's hands wandered down Bucky's hips and over his ass. 

Bucky stopped. "Yeah? I thought maybe that had changed, with everything else."

Steve pushed him back until they were looking at each other again. "I haven't changed, not where it counts. I'm still _me_. And I missed you. I figured you didn't want this anymore, since—"

"You let him take you?" Bucky shoved at Steve's arms, grabbing his biceps and pinning them to the ground. It was just a gesture because they both knew who the stronger man was, but Steve didn't fight. "You roll over for him?"

"No. Not anymore."

Bucky ground his hips, the hard friction painful against Steve's dick. "But you did."

"Before! Ow, fuck, Bucky. Before! When I was small. He liked that."

Bucky frowned, his hands tightening on Steve's arms. "So what was that I walked in on?"

"Just being friendly, okay? Two guys giving each other a hand."

"Looked pretty fucking friendly, there," Bucky snarled.

Steve lifted his legs and locked them around Bucky's hips, holding him still. "You haven't been interested," Steve snarled back at him. They stared at each other, breathing heavily, for a long moment before Steve jutted his chin up. "Fuck me. If you care so much, do it yourself!" 

Bucky let go and sat back quickly, unbuckling his pants. Steve took care of his own, shoving one leg free to bare himself completely. Bucky was slicking himself up, and Steve did not even dare ask how or with what, instead rolling his hips up and wrapping his legs around Bucky again, to pull him closer. 

Bucky was already lining himself up, no preparation at all, and Steve sucked in a deep breath of unpleasant anticipation because it _had_ been a long time. "You fucking piss me off, Rogers. Every time I saw you with him, I knew what you were doing the whole time. Him and your British lady, you're just moving up in the world, aren't you Captain?" 

"Is that what this is? You think I'm leaving you behind?" Steve grabbed Bucky's face and made him look up. "Never, Bucky. It's always you."

Bucky looked lost and exhausted and possibly still drunk. He shook his head. "I miss you," he repeated, his eyes darting to the side. His dick was still hard and pressing against Steve's asshole, but he held himself there. "You're mine, damnit. I could keep you, back in Brooklyn. But I don't have shit to compare with Howard Fucking Stark." 

Stunned at the admission, Steve simply pulled Bucky down to kiss him and pushed his hips up, pressing Bucky into him. They both gasped and Bucky's hips thrust forward hard, breaching Steve open with a burn that was so familiar and foreign, something he had forgotten and yet needed desperately. 

"Bucky, _please_ ," Steve whined. Bucky moved his arms up to brace himself on his elbows, bracketing Steve's head. Bucky was smaller and thinner and lighter but the position put him all over Steve, blocking out everything else. "Bucky!"

"Shhh, stop it, give me a second. God, I forgot how you feel. Damnit, Steve, I _forgot_!" Bucky kissed him, ravenous and demanding, as he pushing himself into Steve slowly. 

Steve tossed his head, needing air. "No one but you, Buck. Not like this…just you."

Bucky pulled out a little then pushed back in with one long stroke. Steve bit his tongue to keep from crying out. Bucky laughed. "Like home, on the damn floor and you making too much noise. Just like it used to be."

"Always," Steve nodded, feeling dazed. His ass hurt with the penetration but just briefly, his body already healing and adjusting to the stretch. Bucky really wasn't as large as Howard, and Steve was grateful for that even if he'd never admit it. He tightened his legs to pull Bucky closer and he took the hint, thrusting his hips slowly, setting a steady rhythm as he fucked Steve senseless.

He knew they looked a sight, half dressed in a European barn in the mountains, fucking like queers at a bath house, but Steve didn't care. He was used to being pathetic, it was his default state and status, and with Bucky inside of him, breathing heavily into his ear, he didn't care. Steve pushed a hand between them to grab his own dick, squeezing and rubbing to match Bucky's pace. Bucky's breathing became ragged and he started biting the edge of Steve's ear and down his neck, chanting Steve's name.

Steve came, delirious under Bucky's weight and pressure. He felt small again, in the only way he ever felt safe: with Bucky on him and over him, holding him down. His orgasm washed over him as he gasped for breath. Bucky's body went frantic and he was reduced to the quiet grunting sounds he made right before he came, his body hammering into Steve. 

Steve tipped his head to kiss at Bucky's ear, his heart carrying his words away from him before his mind could catch up. "I love you."

Bucky bowed up and climaxed, his body shaking. He cried out softly then collapsed, his hips still rolling as he tried to breathe. 

Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky, holding him, remembering that he was the larger man as he rocked Bucky a little, making 'shhhh-ing' noises and stroking his back.

"Steve—"

"No. We have a mission tomorrow. We can deal with this when we get back with Zola. We can…can talk then, if you want. But right now I just want this. I want you. Just for now." Steve squeezed him, trying to get Bucky to stay.

"Good. That's…good. For now." Bucky nodded and relaxed. It was awkward and Steve knew they would have to get up soon, clean up and make themselves presentable for the rest of the world, but for that moment they were both happy where they were. Steve wanted to hold on to that feeling for as long as he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, we're coming up on the end of both the movie and this story. One more chapter after this, which I will probably post later this week, and then a nice long break before the sequel starts. Just so you know.
> 
> *ducks and runs*


	20. The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So again, skipping over scenes from the movie: this chapter picks up, as I'm sure you are all expecting, right after the mission where Bucky dies as they try to capture Dr. Zola on the train.

A soon as Steve handed Zola off to Col. Phillips, he changed out of his Captain America uniform and went to the bombed out bar near the far edge of the town they were occupying. He found some undamaged bottles of wine and set himself up at a small table. He had not actually bothered drinking since before the serum treatment since Erskine had said alcohol probably would not affect him the way it had before. 

He was planning to test that theory.

By the time Peggy found him, he was finishing the third bottle. His reflexes had slowed a fraction but by any measure, he was stone cold sober. He appreciated Peggy's words, but he did not want to hear about the dignity of Bucky's choices. Whatever Bucky felt about Steve, it was as dead as the man himself, and Steve's only response to that was a deep, simmering rage. 

Peggy sat with him for a while, until it was dark and cold, and Steve walked her back to the building that was Col. Phillips' nominal headquarters. Steve turned to go to the temporary "barracks" for the Commandos, but the wine was hitting his system in one sure way so he detoured to the just-as-temporary latrine that had been set up since the town's running water had been a casualty of the bombs. As he left, he noticed there was a lamp burning in the latest Stark basement special. 

Steve walked into the make-shift lab and stopped, looking around. Howard watched him, his eyes welcoming but lacking pity. Howard was simply assessing him, figuring out how Steve was doing. Steve shrugged. "Drinking didn't work."

"Could've told you that, my friend. Alcohol and you were not made to be together." Howard smiled, but he was motionless at the workbench, his eyes on Steve.

Steve look off his jacket and slung it over the back a chair, then walked around the basement. There was a coal stove in one corner, and Stark had several oil lamps going to supply light. Howard always ran a tight ship, everything in its place, even when it was all haphazard junk. Crates full and empty were stacked around in neat piles. 

"Bucky died."

"I know," Stark said, still sitting quietly and watching Steve. "Carter brought me up to date."

Steve stopped so his back was Howard. "He was sorry about breaking us up that night."

Howard snorted. "That was three days ago."

"Still. He knew he was in the wrong. He apologized."

"To you."

Steve just nodded. 

"He's your guy, Steve. Always has been, far as I can tell. It's always been 'Bucky this' and 'Bucky that' as long as I've known you. So he saw something he didn't like and lost his temper. Not the first jealous husband who's tried to take a swing at me." 

Steve could tell that Howard was smiling, trying to make a joke, but he was talking about Bucky as if he was still _there_ and all Steve could see was Bucky reaching out, then slipping away.

"Steve?" Howard said, his voice closer, and Steve realized that he had bent down, curled over so that he was propped up with his elbows resting on a large crate, his head hanging from his shoulders. "Steve, c'mon. Come on, Steve, over here." Howard pulled at him and Steve followed listlessly, his emotions boiling over each other, rage giving way to apathy giving way to horror. His mind kept running a loop of Bucky picking up the damn shield, shooting, getting blown out the hole in train, and falling away from Steve's outstretched hand. Steve did not remember hearing Bucky scream as he fell, although he was sure he had. 

"Steve? Steve, can you hear me?" Howard's voice intruded into Steve's awareness again. Steve was standing, swaying, in a corner of the basement. There was a nest of blankets on the floor and Howard was tugging at Steve, trying to pull him down. Steve dropped slowly, feeling his body as if moving through tar.

"Bucky's dead."

"I know." Howard pushed until Steve was sitting with his back to the wall. 

"He fell."

"I know, Steve." Howard sat next to him and slung his arm over Steve's shoulders. 

Steve knew he was behind some boxes, in a hidden corner that Howard had set up as his makeshift bunk. He always slept in his labs, so it wasn't unusual except for the fact that Steve was sitting there too. 

"I tried…I tried…but he fell. He _fell_." Steve couldn't see, his eyes clouded with tears, and he felt himself starting to shake but he couldn't pull out, he was falling and spinning out of control. Howard yanked him over, pulling Steve face first onto his lap. Steve put out one hand and braced himself against the floor, but his arm quaked and he rested his forehead on Howard's leg. "I couldn't, but I tried. I…he fell." The last word was pulled out of him and Steve felt his nerves snap. He pushed off of Howard, away from his comforting hands, needing space and air, a place to hate himself. He curled towards the wall, biting his fist, trying not to make any noise at all. 

Howard pressed against his back, up on his knees behind Steve, wrapping his arms around him. "You did what you could. He fell, Steve, you couldn't have done more than you did without following him down."

Steve collapsed against the wall, letting Howard hold him. Steve smelled the familiar scent of grease and sweat and thought of Bucky, who was gone, dropped into a chasm so far they would never find his body. He did not remember turning but he wrapped his arms around Howard and sobbed. Howard's arms tightened and locked Steve in place until he was gasping for air, wrung out with nothing left. Steve's body was heavy and stunned, and he finally, finally felt drunk. 

"Shhh, shhh, hold on, just hold on a sec," Howard said, petting Steve's face as he got up. Steve reached for him. "Hold on," Howard repeated and moved away. Steve heard stuff being moved around but he didn't look over the boxes, just stayed where he was until Howard came back. "Oh, baby, it's okay. I blocked the door, we're safe here. You're safe with me, Stevie. I'll take care of you." Howard awkwardly folded himself over Steve's larger frame, tucking Steve's face to his chest. 

Steve wrapped himself around Howard, his eyes wide open and his heart numb. "Can I stay?" He felt too off balance to try to talk to anyone or explain himself. 

Howard kissed his temple. "I want you to."

Steve nodded, rubbing his face a little into Howard's chest. Finally he took a deep breath. "I love him."

Howard squeezed him a little. "Would take a blind man not to see that."

"He's dead. I can't…I don't feel that."

"You're in shock, Steve. You're shaking like a leaf and your blood pressure has spiked." Howard ran his hands up and down Steve's back, reaching out and pulling a blanket over them. "It's not particularly sexy or anything."

Steve laughed despite himself. He looked up at Howard, who smiled at him and placed a light kiss on his lips. "You're okay. You're safe with me."

Steve nodded dumbly. "I know." 

"So relax already. We have a mission briefing in the morning," Howard cradled Steve close to him. "Phillips says Zola is co-operating. We may have enough intel to take on Schmidt." He spoke softly and carded Steve's hair with his fingers. Steve just nodded. 

Going after Schmidt would never bring Bucky back from the dead, but it was still Steve's job, and he was not going to walk away from that. Revenge was just icing on the cake.

"I'm going to kill him," Steve said, rubbing his face against Howard's chest again.

"Just fucking promise me that you don't get yourself killed trying to do it," Howard tugged a little on Steve's hair to make his point.

Steve didn't answer, because there was no reason to make a promise he knew he couldn't keep. He fell asleep listening to Howard's breathing, pretending it was Bucky's. When he woke up he was alone in the workshop, covered in blankets with his uniform jacket folded carefully on the table. Howard's message was clear enough: time to get to work. 

 

##

Somehow, everything went wrong. Steve was committing suicide to save America—all the people whom he had sworn to protect, all of them except the one who was already dead, the one he had already failed. But Steve was a soldier, and this was his job, and he was not going to let anyone else down. 

Steve was sure that Howard was listening as Peggy talked Steve down into the water. He wanted his dance with her, and he wanted to say good-bye to Howard. They had all wanted so much, him and Bucky and Peggy and Howard and even Erskine. But time outpaced them and fate ran them to ground and a small part of Steve's soul cried with joy that at least two of them would make it out alive. 

The last seconds ticked by and the radio connection failed as the plane started shaking apart due to the g-forces of the dive. Steve locked his body in place and accepted the fact that he was going to die. 

If God was just and merciful, it would be quick and Steve would see Bucky on the other side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is THE END. Of this story, anyway.
> 
> There is a sequel in the works and up to 20k already, so yeah, lots and lots more Steve character study to bore you with! I hope you look forward to it! *jazz hands* And for those worried (not that it should in any way put your worries to rest, just sayin') the Winter Soldier will be showing up. I hope to start posting that story in early February. 
> 
> Thanks so much for all your kind, supportive and encouraging comments. I never expected much of an audience for a fic like this, and I'm honored and humbled that you all were willing to take a chance! Thank you!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [More Man Than You [podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3143648) by [litrapod (litra)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/litra/pseuds/litrapod)




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